
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8593660.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Haikyuu!!
  Relationship:
      Sawamura_Daichi/Sugawara_Koushi, Sugawara_Koushi/Original_Character(s),
      Yamaguchi_Tadashi/Original_Character(s)
  Character:
      Sugawara_Koushi, Sawamura_Daichi, Azumane_Asahi, Yamaguchi_Tadashi,
      Sugawara_Koushi's_Parents, Karasuno_Volleyball_Team
  Additional Tags:
      Suga_is_raped, I'm_Sorry, Rape, Rape_Recovery, Angst, Violence, daichi
      loves_suga, suga's_mom_is_awesome, Pain, Bulimia, Self-Hatred, attempted
      suicide, more_pain_and_sadness, suga_doesn't_die, Panic_Attacks, Anxiety,
      Coma, eventual_Daisuga, Eventual_Happy_Ending, And_I'm_still_bad_at
      tagging
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-11-19 Updated: 2018-01-21 Chapters: 19/? Words: 95776
****** Things He Couldn't Take ******
by AizaPonders
Summary
     When a teacher asks Suga to stay after class, he never expects for
     things to turn out the way they do. He doesn’t expect to be raped, to
     be left bleeding on the classroom floor. He’s determined to not let
     anyone figure out what happened, though, and he’s determined to put
     it all in his past. But how long can he keep up his crumbling façade?
     And what happens if the memories turn into reality again?
Notes
     Hello!
     -This is my first ever fic, so if you could refrain from completely
     shattering my charred soul in the comments, that would be very kind.
     Constructive criticism is welcome though.
     -I'm so excited. I love Haikyuu! I love Suga, even though it might
     not seem like it.
     -Also, this is set loosely in the fall of Suga's third year.
     ***Trigger Warnings for RAPE***
     If you want to skip the scene, skip everything between the sets of
     asterisks (***)
***** A Black Shoe *****
Suga is sliding his notebooks into his school bag after class when he hears his
name called by Nakamura-sensei. What could this be? The gray-haired boy spares
a glance in Daichi’s direction, squinting slightly at the orange glow of late
afternoon sun crashing through the window behind his friend. Daichi pats him on
the shoulder and says, “Don’t worry about being late to practice” as he and the
others file out through the door and toward the freedom of afterschool
activities.
Suga sighs. He wonders if perhaps he didn’t do as well on Monday’s test as he
thought he had. He’d hardly slept Sunday night, spending most of it texting
Daichi and Asahi about new developments in a TV show they were all watching.
Daichi has a sixth sense when it comes to test taking, so it doesn’t surprise
Suga that staying up half the night hadn’t hurt his score at all. Pulling the
strap of his bag over his shoulder and steeling himself against his guilty,
racing heart, Suga makes his way to Sensei’s desk when the room is finally
empty. I’ll just promise do better on the next one, he tells himself.
“Sugawara-kun, on your last test,” Sensei begins, pulling the papers out from
his desk drawer, “you scored significantly lower than you usually do.”
I was right, he thinks. He sucks in a breath, ready to assure Nakamura-sensei
that he’ll study harder for the next one when he’s cut off before he can begin.
“Given your previous scores I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt
and offer you an extra credit opportunity so this doesn’t affect your grade.”
Suga blinks and his face breaks into a relieved smile. “Thank you, Sensei.”
Nakamura smiles back. “There’s a student who needs tutoring and I’m swamped
with grading all these damn papers I decided to assign. It’d actually be a big
help to me if you could do me this favor. I’ll go get her now.”
“Yes, sir,” Suga responds, lumbering back to his seat and sliding his bag to
the ground before sitting. He supposes he’ll be more than a few minutes late to
practice. Daichi can do without me for one day, he laughs to himself. He waits,
idly playing with his pencil until Sensei comes back with a girl who looks
vaguely familiar. Possibly a second year?
                                      ***
By the time the second year thanks both Nakamura and Suga for their help, the
latter is antsy to get to practice. He thought he’d be happy for the reprieve,
if only for the day, but it’s been too long without the touch of a volleyball
on his fingertips, and he misses it. He glances at his watch. Practice should
technically be over by now, but the way his team is, Suga knows they’ll be at
it for at least another hour. Hinata’s cry of “one more” rings clearly in his
head and he grins.
“Is that all, Nakamura-sensei?” the gray-haired teen asks, bounding up to his
teacher who’s leaning against his desk, hair tied up in a knot at the back of
his head. It sort of reminds him of Asahi, and suddenly he’s thinking of Asahi
hitting one of his tosses.
“Call me Shinnosuke,” Nakamura-sensei says in a low voice that takes Suga by
surprise.
“Huh?” is all that makes it out of his mouth before Sensei’s lips cover his
own. They’re fierce and demanding. Suga’s initial shock dissipates and he tries
to push the older man away but only succeeds in dropping his school bag to the
floor. He goes cold. “Wha-what are you doing?” Suga splutters when he’s finally
able to break the kiss. The other man is silent, eyes hazy with something he
doesn’t want to think about. “Sensei?”
Nakamura pushes the teen back against the chalkboard, pinning his wrists above
him. This time he drags his tongue along the boy’s neck in thick, wet strokes.
Suga shivers. “Stop,” he pleads, disgust choking his airway. “Stop, sensei.
Please, stop.” He’s unable to pull his hands free of Nakamura’s iron grip, and
as the man’s free hand slips underneath Suga’s shirt, panic shatters any logic.
He struggles. He begs. He cries. He curses this man who tricked him. Anything
he can think of to get out of his current situation. Maybe someone will come to
check on him. Maybe someone will walk down the hall and hear him. It’s so late
that no one is probably even in the main school building anymore, a traitorous
voice in his head mentions.
Amidst his fighting, Suga lands and knee to his teacher’s groin, and Suga
doesn’t need an extra second to know that this is his chance to escape. He
breaks free of Sensei’s grasp and jumps around the desk, thinking only about
reaching the door and the hallway beyond, thinking only about getting out of
this room. He only makes it a few steps before heavy hands shove him and topple
him into the desks in the front row.
Rough hands twist in his hair and grab his upper arm, hauling him to his feet
and back to the teacher’s desk. He’s aware of pens and books crashing to the
floor. He’s aware of Nakamura-sensei’s labored breathing. He’s aware of what’s
to come when his face slams into the wood of the now cleared desk. His heart
races like it does at match point when Karasuno is the one that is down a
point, except—no, except nothing like that. It’s so much worse. Suga feels like
he’s going to throw up.
A hand wriggles into his pants and attempts to jerk him to hardness, but
despite the man’s ministrations, Suga remains limp and unyielding, cold disgust
and fear ever present in his bloodstream. This can’t be happening. I can’t
believe this…Suga zones in on an ink stain in his field of vision. It’s shaped
sort of like a shoe. He wonders how it got there and when. Did someone forget
to cap their pen? Had one exploded? He couldn’t tell for sure if it was blue or
black ink.
“Stop being so stubborn,” Nakamura growls, suddenly yanking on his student’s
cock and arm simultaneously. Suga yelps, instantly brought back to his present
horror. Nakamura laughs at the noise and grinds himself against Suga’s thigh.
“You feel that? You want that, don’t you?”
Suga shakes his head, unable to speak. Please, if someone—literally
anyone—saves me right now, I don’t even care that they would see me bent over a
desk. Please… Daichi… Sensei bites his shoulder and grinds some more.
“I’ve wanted you for so long.” Nakamura’s breathing is uneven. “Sugawara
Koushi.” He relishes every syllable of the boy’s name coming from his mouth.
Then he’s yanking down Suga’s pants and undershorts, spreading the setter’s
legs with a knee, a hand exploring and laying claim to the ass beneath him.
“Sugawara,” Nakamura breathes, pure lust. “This is why I like athletes. So…”
His words fade into a moan.
The teen’s teeth grit together, realizing that this man has stolen his first
kiss, has touched him where no one else has before, is planning to steal
another of his firsts. And he’s been powerless to stop it. I’m not powerless.
I’m not powerless. I’m not powerless. I’m strong. I—
Suga pushes against Nakamura with full force, ready to make another fast break
for the door. For a moment he thinks he’s achieved his goal, feeling the weight
leave his back and hearing his teacher stumble. But he is wrong. Nakamura-
sensei only stumbles a little, and quickly slams Suga back down, shoving two
fingers into his hole without preamble or apology. Suga shouts in protest.
Pain shoots up his back, splitting him in two, as his vision goes white.
“Don’t like that, huh?” Nakamura-sensei asks sadistically. He starts thrusting
his fingers. “How about this, Sugawara?”
Suga tries to breathe. Suga tries to breathe through the pain—through the
revolting feeling of those rough fingers rubbing against his insides. He leans
into the desk even more, trying to get away. When a third finger joins the
others, Suga gives up. He can’t rationalize the pain. He can’t contextualize
it. He doesn’t know when it’s going to end and that’s almost as bad as the
agony itself. It’s not like taking a volleyball to the face or falling badly,
where it’s over in a second and the lasting echoes of hurt are not nearly as
bad as the initial shock. No. This just keeps going and going and—
A sob escapes him. And once he starts crying, he can’t stop.
“You’re so tight,” Nakamura sighs. Suga doesn’t realize that the fingers are
gone until the tip of Nakamura’s erection touches at his entrance. “This might
hurt a little for you.”
The warning in no way prepares Suga for the agony of feeling his insides shred
apart as Nakamura plunges into him in one leisurely thrust. The teen’s mouth
goes wide, as if in a scream, but no sound escapes him. His breath completely
leaves his lungs. Nakamura leans down and covers Suga’s body with his, teeth
nibbling at the boy’s ear, panting and groaning right into it, as he thrusts.
“Such a nice hole,” he moans. “You’re so hot and tight. Fuck. So good.”
One hand holds his hip with a force that will definitely bruise while the other
twists an arm behind his back. Suga can’t feel his fingers.
“Sugawara. So fucking good. You’re such a great hole.”
Suga scrunches his eyes closed. It hurts too much to waste energy on pointless
things like keeping his eyes open. He wants to sleep. He wants to forget this
and everything that happened today. He needs to forget the feeling of this man
moving inside him.
Inside him.
Nakamura-sensei comes inside him. When Nakamura pulls out, Suga feels his legs
tremble for a second before he collapses to the ground. At the man’s feet, he
lies just as he fell, in a tangle of limbs, unable to move his aching body. His
lower back is on fire. His backside feels sticky. He hopes he can sleep now.
But Nakamura flips him around and wipes his cock off on Suga’s uniform shirt,
leaving behind a smear of blood and cum. I’m bleeding, Suga muses idly. He
blinks slowly. Can I sleep now? Nakamura grabs him by the hair again, and this
time it’s easy because his body is limp and pliant. Sensei positions Suga on
his knees, but has to keep him upright and hold his head steady. A hand slips
into his mouth and pushes it open wide. Gross; his fingers... Then Suga comes
face to face with Sensei’s once again hardening member. Oh. Oh. Suga closes his
eyes again, waiting for it all to be over.  
His mouth fills with the man’s dripping, hard cock. The tip touches the back of
his throat, triggering his gag reflex and making him jerk back, but his sensei
doesn’t care—just keeps pushing, deeper—a firm grip in that gray hair.
Nakamura releases a breathy moan. He drives in and out slowly, eventually
picking up the pace, and all Suga can do is try to breathe and pray it will be
over soon. When Nakamura begins thrusting in a frenzy, hips finally stuttering,
Suga cringes, receiving the load down his throat with no way to spit it out.
It’s salty and bitter, the teen now fully aware of the taste and weight of
Nakamura’s dick heavy on his tongue.
Nakamura pulls himself out of the cavern of Suga’s wet mouth and releases the
boy’s silver hair. He pulls up his pants and slides his belt into place. “You
were such a good fuck. I’ll make sure to change that test score to an A.”
Suga watches through blurry eyes as Nakamura-sensei picks up his briefcase,
grabs his coat from the door, and leaves as if this was just another ordinary
day of lecture. He lies there, staring at the door for what feels like an hour,
fingers bent in the foreground of his vision creating little pillars and
partitions. He had tried to reach the door so many times, and now that he’s
free to do so, he’s immobile. He feels… Suga feels so tired.
                                      ***
It takes him a while to pick himself up off the floor, but he does, a strange
calm blanketing him, blemished only by the throbbing ache of his lower half. He
dresses and buttons his coat to cover the stains on his shirt. Slinging his bag
over his shoulder he makes his way to the bike rack at an excruciatingly slow
pace. From there Sugawara Koushi limps homes, leaning heavily on his bike. He
grits his teeth as if that will lessen the pain.
***** Chicken Broth *****
Chapter Notes
     -There are several instances of puking in this chapter so if you
     don't like that, sorry
     -Also flashbacks and ptsd
     -And this chapter is twice as long as the first
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
He pretends to sleep. He knows his mother is worried by the way she calls him
“Kou-chan,” a nickname she discarded when he graduated to junior high. Suga
feels the bed dip as she sits beside him, and suddenly he wants to cry, wants
to be held, wants his mom to tell him everything is going to be all right. When
he was little his mom was a superhero who could kiss away any pain. As he grew,
she taught him talking worked just as well as a parent’s kiss could, and she
encouraged him to never neglect others who were hurting. He has always tried to
follow her advice, but what do you do when you’re the one hurting? What do you
do when your throat’s sore and aching and there’s a lump there stopping any
words from coming out?
He curls in on himself, forgetting all pretenses, and tries to keep himself
from breaking.
“Kou-chan,” his mother sighs again, running her fingers through his hair. “Why
don’t you go take a bath and I’ll change these sheets and empty the bin.”
Suga doesn’t answer. He feels guilty about burdening her with having to take
care of him when she has work in a few hours. He can’t stop thinking words
like, pathetic, burden, useless, dirty. Last night he threw up in the trashcan
beside his bed because he knew he wouldn’t make it to the toilet, and the
stench has surely permeated throughout the entire room by now, but his mom
doesn’t move to rush him. It smells disgusting. He must smell disgusting too.
After a few minutes of silence, Suga’s guilt gets the better of him and he
turns, wincing as he does. Water buds in his eyes in response to the throbbing
below his waist. Not only had the walk home last night been excruciating, but
trying to clean himself had left him in tears kneeling in the bathtub.
His mom smiles, brown eyes hiding a hint of smugness, like she’s proud of
herself for getting Suga to face her. “All right,” she says, worry gone from
her voice as it takes on a commanding tone. “Go bathe, Koushi. Then come down
to the living room.”
Suga nods, still unsure of how his voice will sound. He hasn’t tried it out yet
and he doesn’t want to in front of his mom in case it breaks or wavers.
The trip to the bathroom requires two stops, Suga leaning against the wall and
telling himself that it doesn’t hurt that bad. Once there, he strips out of his
shirt, which is damp with sweat, and the rest of his clothes. Against his
better judgement, he glances at the mirror.
Bile rises in his throat at the sight of the bruises on his hips and the hickey
on his shoulder. His peripheral darkens as the memories claw at his mind. The
feeling of Nakamura-sensei’s body sprawled over him, the sound of his
breathing, the dark wooden desk beneath him. Trapped—that’s how he felt, feels.
It feels like he is still in the classroom, stuck beneath his teacher. He can
taste sweat and cum in his mouth. Suga’s stomach heaves. He falls to his knees
over the toilet, nothing but bile and water coming up, having spent the night
already emptying the contents of his stomach.
He brushes his teeth before he gets in the bath. The warm water is soothing on
his back, which causes him to relax for a moment. He breathes. He promises
himself that his parents can never know, and neither can anyone else. The truth
would only hurt his mom, and how would everyone else look at him if they knew?
He brushes his teeth again after getting out of the bath.
When he walks into the living room he can hear the washing machine going in the
laundry room and the sound of dishes being washed in the kitchen. Usually Suga
is up first, making breakfast for his parents and doing the dishes, and then
heading out to practice early with Tanaka, Hinata, and Kageyama. It feels odd
to sit down on the couch to a bowl of soup and a mug of tea already made.
“Mom,” Suga calls out softly. He practiced speaking in the bathroom before
coming downstairs, knowing that if he’s going to keep up this pretense of being
fine he’ll eventually be expected to talk. She strides into the room wiping her
hands on a small towel.
“Yes, my sick child,” she chimes dramatically.
Suga tugs at the fresh blanket she had laid out on the couch for him and eyes
the corner of it while he says, “You put my stuff in the washer, took out the
trash, made me soup and tea, left this blanket for me, and started on dishes
all in the time I was taking a bath?”
“I’m quick, aren’t I? It’s because it’s Friday. Fridays inspire me.”
The setter’s mouth trembles, and he bends his head down further to hide it.
“You really are a superhero,” he whispers. “Why all this though? You don’t have
to do all this for me.” I don’t deserve it, he doesn’t say.
It’s silent for a full minute—so long that Suga’s sure that his mother must not
have heard him and left the room. Then she speaks, voice not one hundred
percent normal when she says, “That fever sure has rattled your brain, Kou-
chan. I think there’s some medicine upstairs. Finish your soup before it gets
cold.” And she leaves the room for longer than it takes to search the medicine
cabinet.
The soup smells good, a chicken broth with celery and carrots cut small. Suga
dips his spoon into the steamy bowl, stomach instantly growling at being
neglected. He knows everyone says it, but his mom’s cooking really is the best.
As expected the soup is otherworldly, but before he can smile in appreciation,
he swallows, the feeling of liquid falling down his throat too similar to
yesterday’s…No. Suga clenches the utensil in his hand and forces another
spoonful of soup into his mouth. His throat feels tight and refuses to let him
swallow, so the liquid just sits there in his mouth while Suga holds his
breath, trying to force himself to down the warm broth. After plugging his nose
with one hand, he finally does, but he’s left feeling more defeated than
triumphant. He can feel it. Sitting in his stomach. Sloshing around when he
breathes. Sitting there like that man’s seed was yesterday the entire walk
home. It feels revolting.
When his mom comes back downstairs with the news that she’d called the school
and found a fever reducer/pain killer, Suga forces himself to swallow the
entire bowl of soup spoon by spoon by spoon. For his mom’s sake. And for his
mom’s sake, he waits a full five minutes after she leaves for work before
limping into the downstairs bathroom and puking it all up.
                                      ***
He can’t bring himself to get out of bed for school on Monday either, despite
spending the weekend resting and talking himself into it. At the last minute,
he decides against school, pulling his comforter above his head and waiting for
his mother’s inevitable check in.
Suga can now walk without constant pain impeding him, though it’s still there.
And the bruises have turned a yellow color, which he thinks means they’re
almost gone. He slept most of last night. These could be considered victories.
But he still can’t keep his food down. He flinches at his father’s closeness.
Hours upon hours are spent in his bed. Suga still remembers every detail of
that evening.
He spends the better part of the morning drifting in and out sleep, being
unconscious a hobby he’s taken a liking to. But soon it takes more energy to
try to keep his eyes closed than to let them open, so he wraps his green and
gray comforter around himself and trudges down to the living room to distract
himself with the TV. His stomach rumbles, but he’s learned to accept the
emptiness. He feels vaguely accomplished when it does happen, happy that he
doesn’t have the weight of a foreign substance sitting inside him.
In the evening, the doorbell rings.
Suga’s dad is in the kitchen preparing dinner and his mother isn’t home yet, so
Suga rises from his nest of blankets and pillows on the couch and answers the
door. He is not prepared to find Daichi standing on the welcome mat. Daichi
wears his Karasuno Volleyball Club jacket zipped only halfway and smiles
mildly, eyes scrunching around the edges like always Something in Suga’s chest
tightens. So much has happened and changed—Suga knows he’s an entirely
different person despite his attempt at acting otherwise—and here is his best
friend looking perfectly fucking fine. He sort of wishes that wasn’t the case.
Yet, that’s not totally it. Suga can’t quite put his finger on it.
“Suga,” Daichi says. “How are you feeling? I brought your homework from last
Friday and today.”
The gray-haired boy doesn’t know how to respond to the question, so he just
says, “Thanks,” and takes to folder from the captain’s outstretched hand.
Silently, he searches the captain’s face, trying to discern why there’s
resentment resting in his own heart right now. Nothing immediately springs to
mind and still no words come to him.
“I guess I’ll get going and let you rest?” Daichi adds, looking confused as to
why Suga hasn’t invited him inside. Suga briefly wonders why himself. He still
can’t figure out how to unclog his throat to give a response, even if he had
known what to say, so an awkward silence floats through the air between them.
“Is that Sawamura-kun?” Suga’s dad suddenly calls from the dining room. His
voice is innocent and cordial. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?”
Daichi’s dark eyes immediately go to Suga’s. He feels the almost omnipresent
guilt rise to the surface of his skin again as he considers Daichi. Looking at
Daichi hurts.
“I don’t think I can,” the dark-haired captain says slowly, gaze unwavering.
I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
“Are you sure?” His dad walks toward them. “I’m sure Koushi would love to have
some company after spending the weekend cooped up in here.” He sets his hand
heavily on his son’s shoulder as an earnest smile paints itself across his
face.
Suga internally winces and swiftly twists out from under his dad’s hand, heart
still racing from the spike of adrenaline he’s just received. He shuffles away
from the door, palm placed flat against his chest, and realizes that if Daichi
stays then most of his father’s attention will be directed toward their guest.
Mom’s too. I won’t be under as much scrutiny. Suga breathes.
“Yes. Please stay, Daichi,” the setter remarks.
Daichi seems confused by this sudden turn of events, but doesn’t hesitate to
reply with a nonchalant, “Oh. Well, I guess.”
                                      ***
During dinner, Suga’s parents pester Daichi with a barrage of questions about
how his parents are doing, how school is going, and how the volleyball team is
shaping up. Suga’s free to nibble at the vegetables and silently push the rest
of his food around, nodding occasionally to pretend like he’s listening. He
again replays the events of last Thursday. He’s been analyzing the decisions he
made and deciding how it could have all turned out differently.
It’s easy to become absorbed in his own thoughts.I could have asked Daichi to
wait for me. I could have turned down the extra credit opportunity, going with
my original train of thought of simply studying harder next time. I could have
offered to walk the second-year girl to her locker. I could have fought harder.
“Suga?”
The gray-haired teen twitches and raises his gaze from his plate to see that he
and Daichi are the only ones left in the dining room. Daichi pushes his empty
plate aside and leans across the table.
“Are you okay?” he asks, eyes wide and worried. “You haven’t eaten.”
Feeling the weight of Daichi’s stare makes Suga’s head spin. What if he keeps
asking questions? What if he figures it out? Will his face scrunch in disgust
or maybe fold into pity—or what if it instead turns to disbelief? What if he
doesn’t believe me? That would hurt the most, Suga decides.
“Where are my parents?” is the only thing he can think to say to change the
subject.
Daichi retracts his body and leans back in his chair. He gestures toward the
living room. “I think they’re fighting over whether to watch a drama or some
American movie. Which reminds me… Did you see the new episode of ‘King of
Basketball’ yesterday?”
Suga had, but it didn’t excite him like it had last week, when they’d stayed up
discussing it.
“Why introduce backstory now? In the last quarter of the game!” Suga had
complained. He sat cross-legged on his bed, notes and textbook open beside him
in case he got the urge to study more, which he hadn’t. He had a cheap flip
phone, and currently it was on speaker.
“They’ve got to raise the stakes,” came Daichi’s voice through the small
speaker. “They’re trying to make us feel for the other team.”
“That’s something they should have done before the game started or in the early
stages!”
“So you’d rather have an exposition dump in the beginning?” Daichi countered,
arguing just for the sake of it Suga knew.
“I think it’s nice here,” Asahi piped in.  “It gives my heart a break from all
the twists and turns of these past few episodes.”
Suga and Daichi both had to agree with that.
Then Daichi’s voice had gotten excited again. “Imagine if they made a
volleyball anime.”
“They probably will.”
“What kind of superpowers would the protagonist have? And what color hair.”
Asahi seemed to be very taken with the idea.
“Purple hair, definitely,” Daichi responded immediately.
“I think it should be set in college, and it should be a co-ed beach volleyball
team.”
“Asahi…” Suga laughed.
Suga responds with a shrug and a quiet, “No, sorry. I forgot to.”
‘King of Basketball’ was the show that had indirectly caused him to fail that
test Monday. That test was the reason Sensei had asked him to stay after
school. In his mind, Suga hears Nakamura’s voice calling him. He sees the way
the harsh orange sunlight crashes through the windows. He feels Daichi’s hand
on his shoulder—hears the captain say, “Don’t worry about being late to
practice.” Daichi. Daichi who hadn’t failed the test. Daichi who walked to
practice and left Suga in that classroom with their teacher. Daichi who never
came back to check on him, even when he—he needed someone to save him.
No one did.
Suga mentally slaps himself. He can’t dwell on it. None of it is his friend’s
fault. He said he’s going to pretend that everything’s all right and so far
he’s been doing a terrible job.
When he walks Daichi to door that evening, he does his best to smile. He leans
against the doorway.
“I’m sorry, Daichi,” Suga sighs. “I’m just really out of it today.”
The captain touches his arm and Suga doesn’t flinch. “You’d tell me if there
was something wrong, right?”
“Of course. You’re my best friend,” Suga replies, holding Daichi’s gaze and
pretending that each word doesn’t feel like glass shards scraping against his
throat.
                                      ***
He arrives late for morning practice so that he can change alone without fear
of anyone noticing his bruises. Sneakers squeak against the floor, volleyballs
thud against forearms, and shouts of “nice receive” and “nice cover” bounce off
the high vaulted ceiling of the gym. These are his teammates who he’s won with
and lost with, argued with and cried with, and laughed his ass off with. His
team gathered in a place he feels safe. He almost wants to smile.
He thinks that perhaps he should compile a list of places where he feels safe,
if for no other reason than to remind himself that there are still places like
that that exist for him.
“Suga-san!” Noya yells when he sees Suga in the doorway. Before Suga knows
what’s happening, Noya is running toward him, Hinata not far behind, grins
splitting their faces. “You’re back. Are you feeling better?”
“Oh, well,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. He glances at his
teammates gathered around him. He puts up a practiced toothy grin. “I’m not
feeling one hundred percent, but I’ll do my best.”
“All right!” Hinata exults, jumping into the air. As everyone heads back to
practice, the orange-haired spiker keeps pace with Suga, excitedly relaying the
events from all the practices Suga missed. “And then Tsukishima was like whoomp
and the ball went all whoosh and I was like gyahh, and Kageyama was pissed…”
Suga chuckles genuinely.
“I hope you don’t have to miss practice again, Suga-san,” Hinata says. “It
wasn’t the same without you.”
Suga blushes and turns his head away. “Thanks, Hinata.” He joins the group
where Daichi is dividing them into teams to play a practice match, able to
breathe a little easier around his friends. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t
think that his presence, or absence, would make that much of a
difference—seeing as Kageyama is the starting setter, Daichi is perfectly
capable of leading without him, and the first years have matured quite a bit
since their first meeting.
Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Hinata and Kageyama shoving each other
and arguing about something volleyball related. So, Suga thinks, maybe they
haven’t maturedthatmuch.
Everything’s still the same. Last night his father had told him, “The longer
you’re away, the harder it will be to go back.” It seemed he had been talking
about catching up with schoolwork, but the same can be said about melting back
in with the team. Or maybe, the more time goes on, the further he’ll be from
his former self. He doesn’t want that to be the case. Reliability, that’s my
strength. I can’t lose that.
“Let’s do this,” Suga says to his team. They fall into formation and the
silver-haired setter meets his captain’s gaze from across the net. They smirk
in unison. “Let’s win this set!”
                                      ***
Daichi can’t help but watch the vice-captain throughout morning practice, worry
flowing to relief turning to worry again. There are moments when his friend
seems completely fine, eyes reflecting the familiar excitement as they track
the volleyball through the air. Then there are moments that make Daichi glance
twice. There are times when Suga looks as if he’s waiting for this to be over.
In the pauses between plays and the breaths where his team rotates, when Suga
must think no one is looking, he looks…restless? Daichi doesn’t know what to
think—doesn’t know if it’s the illness still lingering in Suga’s body or
something else entirely.
During morning classes, he doesn’t have the chance to worry over whether Suga
looks sick or not. But during lunch, Suga only picks at his food despite making
a blatant effort to laugh like everything is perfectly fine. His gray-haired
friend is obviously trying really hard, so Daichi decides to go along with him,
filling any sneaking silences with his voice so Suga doesn’t feel
uncomfortable.
“We have a practice match with Nekoma in less than a month,” Daichi informs his
friend. “Takeda just arranged it. So, we’ll be going to Tokyo again.”
Suga forces a smile and Daichi bites his lip. He knows everyone has their bad
days, or week, and he doesn’t want to put Suga on the spot or irritate him with
constant questioning. He just wants…
He just wants Suga to smile at him. For real.
                                      ***
When it’s time for them to switch classrooms for their afternoon studies, Suga
feels the pit of his stomach open up. Suddenly his brain is moving too fast
even though his body slows to prolong the inevitable. He’ll be in that room
again. Nakamura-sensei will be there, in the same room, with that desk. He’ll
be in the same room as Nakamura and the desk and he’ll have to sit quietly and
calmly like nothing happened, staring at the place where he was pushed down and
raped. Nakamura-sensei will stand at the head of the class with those eyes that
had looked at him with such lust, writing on the chalkboard with those fingers
that were inside him. Suga can feel them.
Heart racing, he steps across the threshold and quickly makes his way to his
seat, head down. He doesn’t look up as he hears other students sit down around
him. He feels exposed—like everyone is staring, like every whisper is about
him. He feels dirty, sullied, used in a way he knows his classmates aren’t and
thinking about how much truly separates him from them makes him incredibly
lonely.
Hands clap and then an all too familiar voice is saying, “Good afternoon,
everyone” and the class chants back “Good afternoon, Sensei.” Suga remains
silent. He still doesn’t lift his gaze from his own desk, extremely fascinated
with the way the tips of his fingers are turning white from gripping the edge.
“Aw, Sugawara, you’re here today.”
Suga’s breath hitches, so he decides to hold it instead. Please. Please no.
Please don’t address me in front of the class. Please don’t say my name like
you expect me to be the same Sugawara I was last week. Don’t say my name like
you didn’t do anything to defile it. “Sugawara…You are such a nice hole.”
That’s all I was. That’s all I was. That’s all I was. “You were such a good
fuck.” Your voice, your hands, my tears… It’s all I can think. Why are you the
only thing I can think about? Why isthatthe only thing? Maybe it is all I am
now. Because I can’t seem to fake my way back to who I was.
“Sugawara?” the voice of his nightmares asks, concern artificial and sickly
sweet. “Are you feeling sick?”
Sugawara…Such a good fuck.
His stomach heaves, but he forces everything back down, hands clapping over his
mouth, chair scraping against the floor as he suddenly stands. Frozen, he stays
there for one, two, three heartbeats. Then he bolts from the room.
He runs.
He runs, stomach twisting and heart thumping slightly off beat. He runs until
he’s far from his classroom and somewhere in the first year’s hallway. On
wobbly legs he enters the nearest bathroom, locks the stall door behind him,
and vomits what little of his lunch he had actually eaten into the toilet. Get
it together, Koushi. Calm down. Suga breathes and breathes and breathes. And
doesn’t cry.
“Sugawara-san?”
Shaking, he pulls himself to his feet and exits the stall, wiping his mouth as
he goes. “I’m fine, Kageyama,” he mumbles through his fingers, stepping around
his alarmed kouhai to rinse his mouth.
“What are you doing in this hallway?” Kageyama asks. “Are you okay?”
“It’s nothing. I just happened to be here.” Feeling slightly unbalanced but
determined to get far away from this bathroom and Kageyama, Suga makes his way
to the door. He leans heavily on the walls to get there and he stumbles a
little, slumps forward against the knob.
“Sugawara-san!” the younger setter yelps. “Here. Let me help you,” he says,
reaching for his senpai.
Suga whips around. “I said I’m fine,” he barks, a glare in his brown eyes.
“I’ve got it.” He pulls the door open and then he’s jogging again, this time in
a new direction. There’s not many places he can go in this school, but he knows
he’s not ready to go back to that classroom just yet.
Chapter End Notes
     -Poor Kageyama was just trying to help. And Daichi just wants Suga to
     smile
     -I kind of like how Suga has complicated feelings toward Daichi right
     now even though he's trying not to. So be prepared for the angst to
     continue
     -Next chapter will have more of the team, yay
     -Hope you stick around
***** 100 *****
Chapter Notes
     -This chapter is late, it's long, it's of questionable quality, and
     it's mostly from Daichi's perspective.
     -There's like one or two mini flashbacks to the rape, so careful
See the end of the chapter for more notes
“Um, Captain,” Yamaguchi says during practice Wednesday morning. “Is Sugawara-
san okay?”
They both turn to look at the boy in question who’s currently standing in a
corner tossing a ball up into the air repeatedly. It’s break time and most
everyone is drinking water, or resting on benches.
Daichi himself has been wondering what’s been bothering Suga also. It’s not
like Suga to be so distant, and even if something does bother the setter, it
usually makes him focus that much harder on volleyball. Instead his tosses have
been sloppy and slow, and his eyes glaze over whenever there’s idle time like
this, his mind somewhere else. Even now, his heart doesn’t seem to be in his
tosses.
“I’m not sure, Yamaguchi. But for now, let’s just leave him be,” Daichi
responds, gaze never wandering from his silver-haired friend. “I’m sure
everything will work out and he’ll be back to himself in no time.”
The freckled first year walks off to Tsukishima looking unconvinced, and that
continued worry seeps into Daichi’s mind and eats away at his own confidence.
What if everything doesn’t right itself? Should he be more adamant about
questioning Suga? Or is it really as Suga says, just the remnants of the fever
he came down with last week? Whatever it is, he doesn’t have time to ponder it
now. They have so much to improve upon before their joint practice with Nekoma.
“All right, let’s get back to practice!” he calls out to his team. Suga turns
his head away but his grimace does not slip past Daichi. The captain doesn’t
know why that one look makes him so uneasy. He attempts to shrug off the
feeling and focus on volleyball.
That’s almost immediately made impossible when not even ten minutes later Suga
dives to receive a spike from Tanaka, only to come up with blood on his right
hand. The captain’s heart jumps into his throat at the sight, and he’s already
moving despite being at the other corner of the gym.
Suga looks down at his hand, confused for a second, and then fists it.
“You’re bleeding,” Asahi is saying to the unresponsive setter as Daichi ducks
under the net toward them. “You should see if the nurse is here yet.”
“Are you okay?” Daichi asks, aware of everyone’s eyes on them, restless, as
Suga spaces out again, holding his bleeding hand in the other. “Suga,” Daichi
practically barks. “Show me your hand.”
The gray-haired teen looks up slowly. “My hands are just really dry, so it bled
when I fell. It’s nothing, really,” Suga says, suddenly alert and waving both
third years off. He gives an embarrassed smile. “I’ll go wash this…”
His hands do look dry and chapped, surprisingly damaged for a setter whose life
is his hands. Daichi nods, about to turn and tell everyone to get back to
practice when several bright red marks catch his eye. He grabs Suga’s wrist and
lifts it closer to his eyeline. “What’s up with your fingers?”
Suga yanks his arm back immediately, and looks like he’s about to snap at
Daichi. But the vice-captain takes a step back. “They’re…just a little messed
up. I had a rash. I’m going to go wash them now,” he whispers. “Please continue
without me.”
“Okay,” Daichi replies apologetically, but Suga’s already across the gym. He
scratches his head, sighing, wondering what in the hell even happened. “Okay,
guys. Why don’t we just get back to practice?”
                                      ***
By lunchtime, Suga’s all smiles and apologies. He insists he’s sorry for
interrupting morning practice while Daichi apologizes for making such a big
deal out of nothing. The red cuts on his friend’s knuckles briefly flash in his
mind. Had Suga been in a fight? He tenses at this thought. Is someone bullying
him? No. I’m overreacting. He would tell me if it was anything like that. I
mean, why wouldn’t he?Besides, he can’t imagine Suga in a fight.
After lunch, Suga’s entire body droops. He even falls asleep at his desk, not
rousing until Nakamura-sensei calls his name three times. Daichi, like the rest
of the class, stares on with wide eyes, unable to do anything from his seat.
Suga’s slow to pack his bags when the last bell rings. Daichi is already beside
him and ready to go when Nakamura tells the gray-haired teen to stay.
He’s probably going to get chewed out for falling asleep in class, though it’s
surprising that Nakamura’s actually giving Suga a semblance of privacy when the
teacher has never shied away from singling out someone during a lesson before.
Before he can leave, Daichi feels a strong tug on his sleeve and looks back.
The hesitant expression on his friend’s face unnerves him.
He doesn’t speak immediately and when he does it seems like he doesn’t say what
he really wants to. “Wait for me outside,” Suga says in an oddly anticlimactic
way after all those seconds of tension. He releases Daichi’s sleeve and turns
his head without waiting for an answer.
Wait for him? Somehow, even though it’s not a complicated request, it feels
like it’s supposed to be significant. It’s not something they’ve ever felt the
need to arrange before. Perhaps Suga wants to talk to him privately before
practice? Is that why he was dawdling when packing up his bag? Nodding even
though Suga is no longer paying him any attention, he follows the last of his
classmates through the door.
He discards his black jacket at his feet, and, sinking to the floor beside the
door, he folds his chest down over his body, sighing heavily. He never believed
his third year of high school would be this stressful.
Daichi’s parents keep asking him about what colleges he’s going to apply for—if
he’s made a decision yet, even if it’s preliminary. He doesn’t really know what
he wants to do, let alone where he wants to be. He’s sure he wants to go to
college, and he’s sure volleyball is something he wants to continue (though
perhaps in a less competitive capacity), but that’s all he does know.
Meanwhile his parents are scheduling college tours and talking to his teachers
every week to check in on his progress. That in itself is enough to put him on
edge. Now Suga is acting strangely.
He hasn’t spoken to Suga and Asahi about what either of them are planning after
graduation. From what he remembers of Asahi’s parents, they’re pretty laid back
about letting their son decide his own future—not that Daichi’s parents want to
decide for him, but rather they’re impatient and they have certain
expectations.
“What am I doing?” Daichi croaks. He covers his face with his hands.
Since Suga’s not talking, Daichi tries to push his worries from his mind.
There’s nothing he can do if Suga won’t talk to him. But he’ll keep his eyes
open regardless. So, with this in mind, he performs triage on his upcoming
responsibilities. Math test next Wednesday, a trip to his aunt’s next Friday,
research paper due in two and a half weeks, Nekoma joint practice in little
more than three weeks.
He sighs again and glances up to the door. The teen can’t hear any yelling
coming from the other side, so that must be a good sign. Maybe Nakamura isn’t
really that mad.
When the door finally slides open with a dull scrape, Daichi jumps to his feet
and grabs his jacket. He falls into pace with Suga who’s rubbing at his chin
and walking with his shoulders held oddly stiff. The gray-haired setter doesn’t
speak, but continues to scrub at his chin and cheeks.
“You scratched yourself,” Daichi notes when they reach the end of the now empty
hallway. Suga stops, so Daichi does too.
Suga’s fingers lightly feel around the wrong side of his face for the scratch.
Not there, Daichi thinks. Everything else fades away until Daichi is completely
captivated with Suga’s pale face. Without thinking, he reaches out to touch the
small cut in the hollow of his cheek, and the softness of Suga’s skin feels so
right underneath his fingertips. He’s imagined scenarios like this before, and
in his imagination his friend’s lips were parted ever so slightly, just as they
are now.
And I shouldn’t be thinking about Suga’s lips.
In some far-off chamber of his mind, Daichi realizes that this might look
strange to any passersby, that it’s completely unnecessary to prolong this
contact, that Suga himself has half raised his arm to push him away but hasn’t.
Suga hasn’t pushed him away.
Worry and embarrassment overtake the captain. Daichi pulls his hand back and
stuffs it into his pocket to prevent himself from acting rashly again. He can
feel a blush warming his face and he internally curses.Daichi, you idiot.
You’ve definitely creeped him out.
“I’ll have to be more careful next time,” the setter murmurs, not looking at
him.
“Oh,” Daichi responds. He trips over his tongue trying to reassure Suga and
change the subject. “Y-yeah. It’s not that bad. Just yesterday, I...”
                                      ***
“I really wish you’d talk to me, Koushi,” his mom says, sitting on his bedroom
floor. It’s evening and the lights are all turned off in the room. Suga lies in
bed with his back to her, blankets covering him from head to toe. “I don’t know
how to do anything other than talk, and maybe I talk too much. Maybe I put too
much faith in words.”
Suga can hear the regret and hesitancy in his mother’s words and he hates
himself for making her question these things. At his age, he should be making
everything easier for his parents, not more difficult. Lately, he can’t seem to
do anything but sleep and get up for school. Lately, he can’t seem to do
anything right.
“You can tell me anything, you know. If you’re worried, or stressed, or sad, or
in love, or angry. You’ve been so quiet lately. I just want to hear your
voice.”
He opens his eyes wide against the blackness. “Mom. You don’t have to worry
about me. It’s really just stress. There’s so much to do, so much I don’t know
how to do. School is just really hard right now.” He can barely manage that
last sentence. Nakamura’s face flashes in his mind. Suga bites his lip, knowing
he should leave it at this, knowing that the more he prolongs every
interaction, the more likely he is to let something slip, or else confess
everything. But with the image of his teacher’s face come the sound of the
man’s voice and the feel of his breath on Suga’s skin.
“Mom,” Suga repeats, snaking his hand out from under the blankets. She takes it
without question. “You don’t talk too much. I’ve never thought that. I’ve—”
Suga breathes and swallows his pride. “I’ve always found your voice comforting.
C-could you stay and talk for a little while?”
“Sure, Kou-chan.”
Her voice does comfort him, and her hand reminds him of where he is when the
memories threaten to drag him into the past. He doesn’t say anything and he
doesn’t emerge from under the blankets. He just listens as she speaks about her
work and then her childhood and then his childhood. Suga falls asleep before he
even realizes that he’s tired.
In the dream, Nakamura-sensei has him pinned against the chalkboard again. It’s
dark in the classroom, moonlight the only thing to illuminate the left side of
his teacher’s face. It reflects in the gleam of the man’s dark stare. Sensei
says many things, but they’re all unintelligible to Suga. Not a single part of
his body moves, not even his eyelids in a blink. He’s so scared. He knows he
should attempt an escape or something terrible will happen, but his body
refuses to listen to him. So, when Nakamura’s hands start moving down his
torso, Suga can only scream soundlessly.
He wakes up flailing and sweating, his heart racing. Alone. Practically jumping
out of bed, Suga paces over to his window. He places his hand on the cool pane,
feeling the solidness of it and the coldness of it, and tries calm his erratic
heart—tries to bring himself back to reality. It was just a dream. It’s not
real. Something like a mix between a laugh and a sob escapes him then. This
time was a dream. Last time wasn’t.He flops into his desk chair and lets his
head fall back, staring up at the dark shadows stretching across the ceiling
and thinking about that afternoon.
Why can’t it all have been a dream?
Suga refused to walk to the teacher’s desk. His mind shouted ‘danger’ and his
legs wouldn’t move. Standing there, alone, in the same room as Nakamura was
frightening enough. There was no way that he was going to leave behind what
little safety he clung to by walking straight up to the place of his rape. They
stood there silently sizing each other up for a few minutes.
It felt like an hour.
Then Nakamura-sensei smiled, and walked to Suga who now didn’t know if he was
motionless with fear or some misplaced sense of bravery. He just knew that
Sensei got so close that Suga could feel the man’s body heat. Nakamura grabbed
Suga’s face with one hand—fingernails digging into his cheeks—and leaned down
to his ear. He warned to boy not to say anything, relaying an explicit list of
everything he’d do to the teen if word got out. It was a long, filthy list.
So, Suga left the classroom resolved to keep his mouth shut, trying to rub away
the feel of Nakamura’s fingers. But Daichi had to go and mention a scratch on
his face and Suga scrambled to come up with an excuse, one that had nothing to
do with their sensei.
Then he felt Daichi’s hand on his cheek and he froze. Suga didn’t know if he
could handle this so soon after Nakamura’s threats. He could tell Daichi wasn’t
thinking—the captain’s eyes weren’t focused, they weren’t looking athimreally.
If they were, Daichi would have noticed how terrified Suga looked in that
moment.Oh, how scary men are when they aren’t thinking, Suga realized then. His
mind started thinking irrational things, things he knew his friend would never
do but he feared anyway.
Suga raised his arm, intending to push Daichi away but couldn’t follow through.
Just like with Nakamura-sensei, his body lost the strength to do anything. He
went cold and still and nothing else. Suga had thought that when put in
stressful situations, the body decided between fight or flight…but Suga hadn’t
been able to do either of those things so far.More like play dead.
When Daichi finally retracted his hand without doing anything more, Suga
finally breathed again.
Yet, there was also a part of him the missed the touch, could still feel the
echo of it. Perhaps it was a distraction from Sensei’s touch, an alternative
not packed with memories of misery. Suga knew that it scared him to have Daichi
so close, but, somehow, he also felt safe with Daichi near.
He walked to practice a step behind his friend more confused than ever.
                                      ***
Relief cascades through him at the fact that he’s essentially made it through
the week. All that’s left is five minutes of class and volleyball practice, and
then he can go home and sleep under his mound of blankets. Coach Ukai has been
making Suga take extra breaks during practice because he says the teen has been
looking pale. Suga hates the idle time. He’d rather be doing something,
anything, to occupy his mind, and he’d rather be working with his team.
Just before the bell rings, Nakamura-sensei takes to the aisles to pass out the
progress reports for the past two weeks. Students are to take them home to be
looked over and signed by their parents, and then bring them back to school.
Suga scoots to the opposite edge of his seat when Nakamura passes his desk and
drops the report onto it.
It’s not until Sensei is back behind his own desk, that the silver-haired boy
glances down at his progress report. Everything’s decent, as expected, but one
number catches his eye. He instantly knows what it means and he can’t look
away. His throat tightens and hand trembles. This says he got a ‘100’ on last
Monday’s test. The test he failed.
“You were such a good fuck. I’ll make sure to change that test score to an A.”
Is this what it takes to get a 100?
“Wow, a perfect score,” Daichi exudes. He’s standing over Suga’s shoulder, the
bell having rung while Suga, so caught up in his own head, was glaring down at
his scores. “I told you it wasn’t as bad as you thought it was. Good job.”
Those words feel like a punch to the gut. Good job. Suga, trying to subtly
catch his breath, folds the paper into fourths and slides it into his front
pocket. Good job.
This ‘100’ is like a ‘thank you’—no, more like a payment, as if he were some
prostitute. That evening, everything that happened… Fingers thrusting into him,
that bite on his shoulder, blood and cum dripping down his thighs, that sticky,
sweaty taste on his tongue… Nakamura used me as he pleased and now he’s
throwing this grade at me like a wad of cash, like I did him some great
service, like I had a choice in the matter, like my virginity, my pride, my
peace of mind were all only worth this measly 100 points. It was humiliating.
It was sickening. It was scary. It hurt so bad.
And this is all I fucking get? Good job.
That’s all I’m worth? Good job.
The gray-haired setter feels like screaming. Good job.
He stands quickly and his vision blurs momentarily. He pushes against the
dizziness.
“Thanks,” Suga forces himself to reply, and the word tastes like spoiled milk.
He leads the way to the gym, hands balled into fists, determined to rid himself
of the images in his mind—the memories and that small black ‘100’ that mocks
him. To think that he’ll have to show his parents and they’ll likely respond
the same way Daichi did. He doesn’t want the grade. He doesn’t want any of
this.
Why can’t I just tell them? The thought floats through his mind but Suga
quickly dismisses it. He tells himself that there are so many reasons, not the
least of which being Nakamura’s threat. But who would believe him, especially
after all this time? They’ll wonder why he didn’t say anything sooner if he
really is telling the truth, won’t they? Or if they do believe him, they’ll be
disgusted. Someone who’s had those things done to him, who was too weak to stop
it, is surely to be avoided. I’ll just continue like this and eventually things
will get easier and I’ll start to forget and no one will have to worry about me
anymore.
Suga’s stomach rumbles, and he’s gotten so good at ignoring it that he barely
notices. He pushes himself hard during warm ups, gritting his teeth the entire
time, thinking that he doesn’t want that 100, doesn’t need it, is more than it.
Instead of distracting himself, he becomes consumed by the fiery emotion
tangled up inside him. He lets it rise to the surface and infect his calm
façade.
“I’ll show them,” he grumbles to himself, snatching up a volleyball from the
floor by the bin. “I don’t need that grade, and I don’t need anyone to tell me
‘good job.’”
“Kageyama!” he calls even though the raven-haired first year is only a few feet
away lecturing Hinata about his receives. The first year turns at the sound of
his name. Suga grips the volleyball tighter. “Will you toss to me?”
Hinata’s eyes go wide but Kageyama just nods, an unreadable expression on his
face. Suga’s only practiced spiking from Noya’s tosses recently, and not very
publicly.
Suga misses the first few tosses, finding it strangely difficult to sync up
with his kouhai, and the frustration only fuels his fervor because Kageyama is
a damn good setter and Suga doesn’t want to miss this opportunity. But then,
finally, his approach, jump, and swing all match up perfectly and Suga smacks
the ball down into the floor on the other side of the net. He lands unevenly
but the sting on his hand and the sound of the ball slamming into the floor…
Suga bites back a grin and nods at Kageyama to send another one just like that.
Even though his legs tremble slightly, he does it again and again because…
because…
It makes him feel powerful.
He hits the ball over and over, completely deaf to his surroundings, body slick
with sweat and vision hazy around the edges. He pushes through the discomfort.
He pushes through because of that feeling. Power, control—they’re things he
lacked with Nakamura-sensei. Pace quickening, Suga can’t keep the scowl from
his face.
Suga feels great, until he jumps for another spike and his vision goes dark
even though he doesn’t remember closing his eyes. His body slackens. What?
Wai—Vaguely, as if it’s happening to someone else, he feels his body falling
and hears a thud that may be the volleyball landing beside him or perhaps his
own head striking the floor. His eyes open momentarily and he glimpses the
court underneath him. Then, unable to keep them open, he slips into
unconsciousness.
                                      ***
Hearing a sudden thud and a gasp, he whips his head around to see Suga on the
floor and Kageyama standing over him frozen. Time slows, each second that Suga
doesn’t sit up and reassure the team that he’s fine longer than the last. For a
breath, everything is silent for Daichi. Then something inside him snaps, and
he can hear again—can comprehend again.
“Suga?” Daichi runs toward the two setters. “Suga!”
Noya beats him there, already asking Kageyama what happened and calling out for
coach Ukai. Daichi drops down beside him, joined by the entire team who have
varying degrees of shock and worry on their faces. Noya and Daichi carefully
flip their silver-haired friend onto his back, Daichi cringing at the limpness
of his body and the blood smeared down his face.
“He’s bleeding a lot,” Asahi whimpers through his hands, eyes wide. It seems
the blood is coming from his nose and mouth. The large ace paces away from the
group.
“He was working himself too hard,” Noya mutters angrily.
“Is he going to be okay?” someone asks.
“I’m sorry,” Kageyama whispers. “I should have realized—”
“It’s not your fault,” Tanaka pipes up.
And everyone’s talking at once, the atmosphere chaotic and strained.
“I’ll get the nurse,” Yamaguchi and Hinata say at the same time, so they both
go off running and finally Ukai speaks, telling the team to back up and give
Suga some space to breathe. Everyone but Noya and Daichi obeys. Kageyama keeps
apologizing and Tanaka keeps trying to reassure him.
Then Ukai’s talking about concussions and head trauma and how it’s bad that
Suga is unconscious right now, but Suga won’t wake up. He puts two fingers to
the vice captain’s wrist, and his expression just becomes more worried. During
this, someone tosses Noya a damp washcloth and he proceeds to wipe the blood
from the setter’s face, his usual excited demeanor replaced with a steady,
careful hand.
Daichi kneels there, holding Suga’s head still for Noya, heart beating way too
fast for being this immobile. He just wants this all to be over. When the nurse
arrives, following Hinata and Yamaguchi into the gym, Daichi breathes because
here is someone who can actually help.
                                      ***
At the hospital, wanting to hear the news firsthand, Daichi goes straight to
Suga’s parents when they arrive and stands beside them as if he belongs there.
Suga’s mom doesn’t hesitate to throw an arm around his shoulders and tell him
that she’s sure everything’s going to be fine. Even though she wasn’t there,
didn’t see all the blood like he had, there’s something about her tone of voice
that makes the captain believe her. She’s a nurse as well, and hurried here
still in her scrubs from work at another hospital.
The team is all sitting in the waiting room, occasionally whispering to each
other, but surprisingly subdued. Both Takeda-sensei and Coach Ukai are there
with them.
When the doctor comes out, he glances first toward Daichi questioningly, but
Suga’s mom hugs him closer—which is strange for the teen, but if it means he
can stay for the news of his best friend, then he accepts it—and the doctor
glances down at his notes.
“Your son doesn’t seem to have sustained a concussion, though we’d like to keep
him overnight to make sure of this,” the doctor starts, Daichi ready to sigh in
relief before the man continues, “However, since he seems to have fainted
before he hit his head, we ran tests and found that your son is anemic. He’s
missing quite a bit of sodium, potassium, and magnesium. The extent and
severity of this anemia and electrolyte imbalance suggests at least a week of
malnourishment.”
“He’s been sick recently with the flu,” Suga’s dad cuts in, perhaps taking
offense to the doctor’s use of the word ‘malnourished.’ Even Daich can hear the
doctor’s judgement.
“Upon further inspection, we also believe that your son suffers from bulimia.”
“What gave you that idea?” Suga’s mom asks, now sounding just as offended as
her husband.
“Bulimia?” Daichi asks, at a complete loss as to what that even is. Whatever it
is, Suga’s mom seems to think that it’s not very likely.
“Bulimia is an eating disorder where a person regularly forces themselves to
throw up, often after bouts of binge eating,” the doctor delivers in a stoic
manner. Daichi opens his mouth to contradict this—because ‘eating disorder’
doesn’t sound like Suga at all—when the doctor continues, this time staring
directly into his eyes. “Most cases of bulimia lead to anemia. It can be
characterized by dizziness, fainting spells, fatigue and lethargy, dehydration,
dry skin, redness around the eyes, anxiety especially concerning eating and
food, tooth decay, and scarring on the fingers and knuckles. You’re his friend.
You spend a lot of time together at school, I take it. Does any of that sound
familiar?”
Daichi feels his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. Of course it sounds
familiar. Suga’s been falling asleep in class, been sluggish at practice,
hasn’t been eating normally—his hands bled because they were so dry, and those
red marks on his knuckles that Daichi had noticed... Still, it all seems
unreal. Why would Suga do something like this?
“I don’t understand,” Daichi says truthfully. “Those marks on his hands…”
“They’re from his teeth. From sticking his fingers down his throat to make
himself throw up. Those marks are from biting down when that happens.” The
doctor flips a page on his notes and pushes up his glasses, Daichi’s response
enough of a confirmation for him. “He also sustained a broken nose from his
fall. But he’s awake now in room 305 and you all can go in and speak to him if
you’d like.”
The doctor leaves them. They all sigh once he’s gone, and then both of Suga’s
parents turn to Daichi.
“Sawamura-kun?” Suga’s dad says, and Daichi knows his question is the same as
the doctor’s.
Daichi feels oddly isolated without Suga’s mom’s arm around him. He looks down
the hallway toward Suga’s room. “He’s been falling asleep in class and dizzy
sometimes at practice, so coach makes him sit out. He hasn’t been eating much.
He’s been sick a few times at school. And his hands…” Daichi doesn’t know how
to finish. Now that he lists it all out, it seems so obvious that something has
been wrong. So many things that Suga made excuses for and Daichi just accepted,
but he didn’t believe it was anything serious.
“I thought it was just from being sick last week. I didn’t know it—” Daichi
starts, but gets cut off by Suga’s mom.
“You couldn’t have known, Daichi-chan. I’m a nurse and I didn’t realize.”
Suga’s mom looks so calm and collected as she pats Daichi’s head and her
husband’s arm. “It’s something that Koushi was hiding from us. He might be
defensive about this. So, we just have to remind him that we care about him and
that we’re here to listen and to help no matter what.”
When she smiles, it reminds Daichi of Suga, so kind and honest. It reminds him
that Suga hasn’t smiled like that in a while.
The captain resolves himself to help his friend smile again.
                                      ***
Daichi enters the room to find Suga awake, sitting up straight, and looking
less pale than he had all week. Suga smiles and raises his arm almost in a
wave, wires that connect him to the heart monitor and the IV tubes moving with
it like the strings connected to a marionette.
“I broke my nose,” he says, pointing and still smiling artificially like he’s
proud of the fact.
Daichi doesn’t return the smile. He walks to the hospital bed, resolute. He
takes Suga’s hand and peers down at the red marks dotting those white knuckles,
which only causes Suga to try to pull it back. Daichi captures Suga’s with a
second hand, holding on desperately. He doesn’t let himself feel embarrassed
and doesn’t worry about how he looks to Suga’s parents. All he can think about
is how he saw these scars on his friend days ago and decided not to question or
say anything about it. Even though he knew something wasn’t right, he turned
the other way. He runs his thumb along Suga’s knuckles lightly.
Suga’s expression is guarded when Daichi looks up into those familiar brown
orbs. “Suga. Please don’t do this anymore.”
Suga’s eyes slowly fill with tears that he immediately attempts to blink away.
Breaking Daichi’s gaze, Suga looks to his parents who are standing just inside
the doorway. No one speaks. Daichi doesn’t know what Suga sees in their faces,
but soon the setter is again forcefully blinking away the water in his eyes,
mouth falling into a trembling frown. He stares at his lap silently for a long
while. Then, softly:
“Please help me stop.”
Chapter End Notes
     -This took so fucking long to write and so fucking long to edit, but
     it's done
***** Flight *****
Chapter Notes
     So that season 3 finale, huh? (meanwhile all the manga readers are
     like 'i totally knew what was gonna happen')
     -There's references to throwing up and the rape but nothing too
     explicit
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Bulimia is word that Suga rolls around on his tongue and speaks aloud when he’s
by himself, testing to see how it sounds. Ever since he first heard the word
spoken on the doctor’s lips, he’s been trying to reconcile his actions with the
meaning of the word. It’s starting to make sense. Bulimia. These things he’s
been doing—other people have had this problem, and they’ve stopped.
Suga stares at his hands. He said he wanted to stop, and yeah, puking
constantly is exhausting and trying to hide it is even more so. His stomach’s
always hurting and so is his throat. He feels guilty. Just, he feels so guilty.
But having everyone know about his problem is a double-edged sword. On one
hand, they can help him, support him.  On the other hand, having everyone’s
gaze on him all the time is nerve wracking, like if they look closely enough
they’ll be able to see the rest of his secrets. Sometimes their attention just
makes him feel more sick. Suga’s not sure how long it will take him to get used
to it.
When his mother calls him over to the kitchen table before dinner, Suga
automatically tenses up.
“Koushi, I’m going to need you to be completely honest with me.”
Suga’s heartrate spikes as he stares at him mom from across the table.  A
million things cross his mind in that instant and he can’t slow down his
thoughts. She found out? How did she find out? What exactly does she want to
know? Honest? How honest should I be? What will—
“Calm down. You’re not in trouble,” his mom says, alarmed by his negative
reaction. She shuffles a few papers in front of her and uncaps a highlighter.
“What’s that for?” he asks, even though he’s not entirely sure he wants to
know.
“Daichi-chan had an idea yesterday, and I formulated a plan,” she says proudly.
Suga notes the name, Daichi-chan, and doesn’t know whether to sigh or laugh at
the way she speaks like she’s already adopted him. He’d be a good son, Suga
starts thinking. He’s smart, caring, talented, loyal, strong. Daichi wouldn’t
cause trouble.
Suga doesn’t speak.
“I have a list of foods here and I want you to tell me which ones you feel like
you could eat and which ones you can’t,” his mom starts, serious once more.
This is her professional, nurse voice. “I need to know what foods you can eat
and, most importantly, keep down, even if it’s only a few bites. I’ve separated
them into food groups and my hope is that we can find a few from each category
that you’ll like, because more than the amount of food you’re eating, I want to
make sure you’re having a balanced diet. We’ll work on portion size later.”
“Mom…”
“But you have to be completely honest. I don’t want you forcing yourself to eat
something you don’t want to. It’s pointless if it’s going to make you sick.”
But everything makes me sick, he doesn’t say. So many, many things he doesn’t
say. Eating makes me sick. School makes me sick. Being looked at by strangers
makes me sick. Seeing people laugh makes me sick. Seeing people cry makes me
sick. The nightmares make me sick. The memories make me sick. The thoughts, my
mind, this body that I’m stuck with, makes me sick. Waking up in the morning
makes me sick. Maybe waking up is pointless.
Suga blinks and shepherds his wandering thoughts back to the kitchen and his
mother’s expectant and hopeful gaze. That’s right, he thinks.I asked for help.
This is the help. I’ve got to try too.
“Okay,” he says with a nod.
An hour later, when they’re done going through every item on the list, Suga’s
mom looks down at her papers despondently, apparently fewer highlighter marks
than she had hoped for. There’s only about a dozen scattered throughout the
three pages.
Suga hates her worry. It’s not like he’s tried out every single one of those
foods, but rather he imagined himself eating it and answered as honestly as he
could. He clears his throat.
“Um, maybe there’s a couple more that would be okay—”
“It’s fine, Koushi. We’ll work with this.” His mother stands with her
information and smiles a bit too widely to be believable.
                                      ***
“Do you really think it will work?” Suga asks. He wants someone to tell him,
‘yes, it absolutely, most certainly will work, and then you’ll be fixed and
everything will be okay again.’
He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, wrapped in the blanket he’s become more
attached to than his baby one, while Daichi sits at Suga’s desk “doing
homework.” They’re supposed to be studying together, but he finds it difficult
to care about homework at the moment and Daichi says he doesn’t mind working
alone.
“Don’t you think it will?” Daichi responds with a smile.
That one’s fake too, Suga notes. Everyone’s been doing nothing but smiling at
him, but they’re all fake and it makes him feel like he’s pushing them to lies.
Seeing his friends and family worried hurts, it’s true, but seeing them all
with false smiles makes him wary. Honestly, Suga doesn’t know what he wants
from them. Smile/no smile. Encouraging words/silence. Sometimes he just doesn’t
know what he wants.
So, he says, “Sure. I guess it will.” He thinks about his mother’s elaborate
notes and how she looked momentarily disappointed. Sighing, he leans back
against the wall.
“Suga, I know I’ve said this before...”
His eyes lock on the back of Daichi’s neck. The captain’s head is bent down low
over his papers, and Suga can’t tell if he’s hiding his face because he’s
embarrassed or nervous or something else. He’s usually good at reading Daichi,
but has been finding it more difficult lately.
“I know I’ve said this, but you really can tell me anything. I won’t judge, I
promise. Even if it’s weird or bad or stupid—even if it’s something that
doesn’t really make sense to you. I could maybe help you make sense of it…or
something.” Daichi’s voice fades into an awkward whisper by the end.
Suddenly, the gray-haired boy is rapidly blinking away tears and thinking,
maybe. Maybe he could, maybe. Maybe he could tell him. Maybe Daichi could help
him makes sense of it. It sounds like it just might work. Suga’s on the verge
of speaking, not sure how to articulate any of what’s in his head, when
Nakamura’s voice invades his senses. Nakamura’s threats. His teacher’s voice
twisting into Suga’s own and reminding him of the humiliating vulnerability of
being taken by force. It’s not something Suga, himself, can accept, so how can
he expect that of Daichi?
When Suga stands and casts off the blankets, dry-eyed and stoic, Daichi finally
looks up from his notebook, a question in his eyes. Suga just waves him off and
tells him, “I’ll be right back.” He walks slowly to the bathroom, locks the
door behind him, twists both knobs of the sink on to full, and falls to his
knees in front of the toilet.
He shakes, feeling an imagined cold right down to his bones. Uncaring about
holding back the tears now, Suga lets them stream down his cheeks. There’s this
weight, this pressure inside him, that simultaneously begs for release
pathetically and blackmails him into submission. “If you don’t give in, I’ll
break you.”It feels like his body is screaming at him.Give in or break. Give in
or break. Give in or break.It reaches the point where Suga’s not sure there
even is a difference anymore.
Why do things have to be this way?
Suga pushes his fingers into his mouth.
                                      ***
“Suga,” Daichi says for the fourth time.
When the vice-captain finally looks up from the notes he has obviously been
faking, his gaze is muddled. He glances around at the half empty classroom,
comprehension dawning on his face, drawing Daichi’s attention to the bags
underneath his eyes. Suga’s nose is taped, the area bruised purple, but
according to the setter, it doesn’t hurt much anymore.
“Want to eat lunch on the roof?” Daichi asks. “Those baseball players who’re
always up there have a game today, so it should be deserted.”
“Sure,” Suga says. And he says nothing else the entire way to the roof. It’s a
pointed, rebellious silence pregnant with all of Daichi’s unasked questions and
Suga’s omitted answers. They’re both waiting for the other to begin speaking
first. It’s during this silence that Daichi feels the all too familiar weight
of these last couple of weeks pulling down on him once more, transforming each
stair into a mountain.
As they climb, Suga’s hand brushes against his, and it all feels so ironic—that
in this instant he can be so close to his friend, yet simultaneously feel like
he’s halfway across the world—that he lets out a frustrated sigh. He misses
Suga’s smile so much.
“What?” Suga asks as he pushes the roof’s door open and steps through. He peers
at Daichi out of the corner of his eye, almost looking like his old self. “It’s
about me, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not like that,” Daichi replies hurriedly while the rational part of
his brain thinks,like what exactly? Trying to cover up the awkwardness, he
attempts a smile. How can I explain without explaining?He curses himself as
Suga’s expression goes from stoic to sad. He says guiltily, “It’s nothing
really.”
“I’m sorry for causing everyone so much trouble,” Suga says.
“You’re not,” he insists.
“But I am. You, my parents, the team, Coach—everybody. I know I’m causing
everybody trouble,” Suga says, sounding determined to get this off his chest,
so Daichi just listens for now, ready to launch a counterargument afterwards.
“But I’m glad you’re helping me with this. Thank you.”
The wind blows through Suga’s hair, twisting silver locks into his face and
making Suga groan and try to tuck it all behind his ear. His wrist is smooth
and beautiful contrasting his scarred and ugly hands, but they’re both a part
of him so Daichi loves it all. He realizes that even this Suga that doesn’t
smile, this Suga that struggles with an eating disorder, is still Sugawara
Koushi and that he, Sawamura Daichi, loves him.
He bites back a sad smile.
With Suga’s permission, the rest of the team were told. Hinata and Yamaguchi
have taken it upon themselves to be Suga’s personal nurses during practice,
making sure the older teen always has water and snacks, and takes rests when he
looks tired. They’ll take turns sitting out with Suga when coach makes him so
that Suga doesn’t get bored on the bench. Daichi admits that he finds it a
little bit heartwarming.
Daichi asks, “Does it help? Not being surrounded by so many people?”
“Yeah,” Suga replies after a pause. “I feel like I can breathe better. It makes
it easier.”
Suga’s talking more. He’s eating, albeit slowly and still less than he normally
would, but he’s eating. Daichi feels like he’s one step closer to
understanding. He feels like he’s made some progress. Hesitantly, he follows up
with another question, though he’s not sure how Suga will react. “But if you
were alone, you wouldn’t eat?”
A cloud shifts in front of the sun, the temperature change causing both boys to
shiver in sync. Suga’s silent for a long time. His hands go still and Daichi
curses himself for ruining the positive atmosphere—for letting his curiosity
got the better of him.
Sunday, when he had been studying at Suga’s, the setter had gone to the
bathroom to throw up just when Daichi had believed that maybe he was getting
somewhere. He wasn’t able to prevent his friend from doing what he did. He
wondered what he could have said, or perhaps not have said, to avoid that
outcome. Suga cried and apologized after but wouldn’t let Daichi comfort him.
The dark-haired youth still has absolutely no idea what goes through Suga’s
head when he’s hunched over the toilet.
Daichi wants to understand so that he can help better.
When his silver-haired friend speaks again, it has nothing to do with their
previous conversation and is so obviously meant to be a change of subject it
almost makes Daichi cringe. “How do you feel about tomorrow’s math test?”
                                      ***
He rolls that word around on his tongue some more. Bulimia. Everyone’s trying
so hard to help him with this. So, he takes his laptop from his desk to his
bed, opens a new tab, and searches that word. If he can just figure out how to
stop himself when he’s not thinking one hundred percent clearly, then that’s a
big problem solved. It’s easy to say that he shouldn’t push his finger down his
throat or that he won’t right now, but when he’s feeling…like that…it’s hard to
think rationally.
Suga reads the first few articles which are all from government or hospital-run
websites. They’re so formal and clinical and not helpful that Suga finds
himself searching for something more specific. For something that seems more
honest. It’s then that he stumbles across a link to a site where people with
all kinds of eating disorders can tell their stories. His heartbeat quickens in
anticipation as the page loads. Maybe these people will know…
He lies on his bed for two hours reading story after story people have written
about their personal struggles with eating. At times, he springs up to his
knees in surprise because he can relate. He thinks, yes, that, I understand
that! Other times he finds meaning in things he was never able to articulate,
yet there they are typed out on the screen for him.
It makes him feel less lonely. There are so many stories. Some are scary, more
are hopeful, but what they all seem to tell him is that there’s no shortcut to
fixing this. Not a single person has written, “And this is how I stopped puking
and changed my outlook on life in just two days.” That’s the part that’s the
most disheartening.
Tapping his fingers along his keyboard, Suga tries to comprehend all of the
information he’s gathered. Most everyone who wrote a recovery story cited
family and friends as an essential part of their battle, and that’s something
that he has right now, so that should mean that everything’s going to be okay,
right? Eventually.
Yet, so many doubts fly through his brain, fighting his newfound optimism. What
if you keep messing up? What if they lose patience? What if they find out your
true secret? There’s no way you can do this after everything that’s happened.
What’s the point in trying so hard? You should just give up. Give in.
Give in. Don’t fight.
“Stop being so stubborn.”
Suga types “Stories of rape” into his search bar.
He bites his lip. Breathes. And deletes the text.
Closing his laptop, he rolls over onto his back and stares up at his ceiling.
The idea of those stories scares him. He doesn’t think he can bear to read
their accounts and have them say the same things the eating disorder ones did:
This took me months, a year, years to overcome. He doesn’t want to feel this
way for years. He doesn’t want to feel sad and sick and confused anymore.
He doesn’t want to feel afraid every time someone stands a little too close to
him. He doesn’t want to constantly watch people’s hands when they wave them
around during a conversation. He doesn’t want to cry before bed.
Suga hasn’t been able to sleep. He hasn’t been able to practice volleyball like
usual. He hasn’t been able to breathe in Nakamura’s class. He hasn’t been able
to hold eye contact for more than two seconds. He hasn’t been able to touch
himself.
It’s not something he did often, but now, not being able to at all leaves him
frustrated. Every time he’s tried, he’d remember with brutal clarity the feel
and pressure of Nakamura’s hand and he’d suddenly be taken back to that moment.
At those times, he’d swear he could feel Sensei’s desk beneath him and taste
the fear, so potent, in his mouth.
And then he’d feel dirty and ashamed knowing that someone else had held his
dick in their hands. But what really scared him, and continues to scare him, is
the idea of continuing to masturbate despite all of that. Like, how could he
possibly enjoy himself after that? What would it mean if he could get fully
hard? Does that mean that a small part of him liked it? That would make him
just as disgusting as Nakamura, right? He doesn’t let himself find out. So,
each time, he stands under a cold shower with clenched fists.
Suga rolls back onto his stomach and hugs his pillow under his chin, sure to be
careful of his nose.
What if because I’m so moody and scared, I never find somebody to fall in love
with? What if I’m alone forever? Or what if I never get past this fear of being
close to people and I’m never able to genuinely hug someone, or kiss them,
or…be more intimate?
Suga’s grip tightens.
Sex. It seems like such a dirty, sinister thing now. Sex.
“I’ve had sex,” Suga says quietly to the empty room. This, like so many other
things, he struggles to make sense of. I’ve had sex, but I didn’t want to. It
wasn’t with someone I loved, or even liked. It didn’t feel good. I was tricked.
I was forced to do those things. I’ve had sex, but—
Suga sits up, clutching his pillow in shaking fingers, his grip viselike. He
can feel his entire body tremble and he wishes so desperately to feel his
mother’s firm hand in his or hear Daichi’s warm laugh. If only these damn tears
would stop.
I’ve had sex, but—
“I was raped.”
                                      ***
It’s been two weeks.
It’s been two weeks since that day and still he can’t walk into Nakamura-
sensei’s classroom without first balling his fists and blanketing his
expression in a practiced stoic calmness. It’s been two weeks and he can still
feel the echo of his insides aching. He still can taste him. He still finds it
hard to breathe at random times—like when he’s walking to practice or switching
out his textbooks or going to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
It’s hard to congratulate himself on any progress made, when all that progress
is effortlessly undone the moment he switches classrooms after lunch.
Suga can’t help but look around at his classmates. To all of them, it’s just
another Thursday, nothing special and without consequence. The extent of his
otherness has never stood out to him more than it does while sitting in the
middle of Nakamura’s class surrounded by boys and girls who smile idly or doze
or take obligatory notes like they do, and have done, every day. He sits on the
edge of his seat and breathes carefully. Suga feels especially anxious today.
It’s been two weeks and it still feels like he’s immobile beneath Nakamura-
sensei, unmoving beneath the weight of that memory.
When the final bell rings, Suga makes a spur of the moment decision and
approaches Daichi. He doesn’t let himself feel guilty as he constructs an easy
lie. “I need to miss practice today, Daichi. I forgot my mom’s going to be
working a few days straight basically, and she wanted to spend time with me
before that.” He feigns disappointment at the situation and Daichi seems to buy
it.
“I understand,” the captain says. “We’ll miss you at practice. Tell your mom I
said ‘hi’ I guess.”
“Thanks,” Suga replies instantly. He hurries to his locker to drop off a few
things, and then leaves school grounds before anyone can call him back or
question his story. It’s overcast and breezy, making him regret not bringing
his scarf.
He needs to be alone.
The notion of being around people right now feels suffocating. Attending school
today has only added to this feeling of suffocation. He feels like he’s going
to explode. If he just pedals, and keeps on pedaling, then he might outrun
these things he’s trying not to think. No thinking. His fingertips start to go
numb.
Suga rides in the opposite direction of home. It’s oddly satisfying, the
knowledge that no one knows exactly where he is just now. Alone, but not lonely
in this instant, he has complete control. He wants to go everywhere and nowhere
at the same time—he just wants to keep moving in a direction he hasn’t been
before.
The wind that flows through his hair and clothes makes him feel like maybe
flight is possible. Maybe Hinata was right. He chuckles and glides across the
pavement smoothly, watching the blur of houses whip by in his periphery. Moving
further and further away from the familiar, pedaling to solitude, letting the
wind drown out his thoughts… It feels like flying.
Maybe flight is possible for this crow of Karasuno.
                                      ***
After heading back to his locker for a forgotten notebook after practice, a
buzzing sound makes Daichi do a double take. He opens Suga’s locker to find his
phone there amidst his books vibrating from a text message. He left his
phone…Maybe I should take it to him.Slipping it into his pocket, he runs to
catch up with the others.
When Suga’s dad opens the door, and sees Daichi standing there, his gaze grows
instantly confused and he glances into the shadows behind the boy. The captain
mimics his glance, but doesn’t see anything. Strange. Before he can pull the
cellphone from his pocket, Suga’s dad steps forward and grabs one of Daichi’s
shoulders firmly.
“Where’s Koushi?” he demands.
Now Daichi’s the one confused. He steps out of that man’s grasp. He says, “He
went home after school,” even as Suga’s dad shakes his head. “He said he was
going home. He said he was going to spend time with his mom.” 
Suga’s dad is still shaking his head. “I’ve been here. He hasn’t come home.
Moreover, his mother is not even going to be home tonight. I have to call
Koushi. I don’t know—”
“He left his phone at school,” Daichi inserts, raising the phone to eye level.
A bad feeling leaks through his skin and into his bloodstream. Suga lied about
going home today. It’s pretty late. He doesn’t have his phone. Where on earth
could he be? Daichi is standing on Suga’s porch—he knows this—but suddenly he
can’t see or hear his surroundings. He momentarily forgets where he is. What if
Suga passed out again? What if he’s hurt?
He backs off the porch, almost falling in the process. A sense of urgency
overtakes Daichi. “I’m going to look for him!” he calls over his shoulder as he
takes off at a jog. He’s too far away to hear what Suga’s dad shouts back.
The path the vice-captain usually takes from school to home was clear, no sign
of him or his bike. If Suga lied about going home, then he must have had
someplace he wanted to go but couldn’t tell Daichi or his family about. As the
captain jogs through the neighborhood, he keeps his eyes open and makes sure to
peer into every alleyway and corner. He doesn’t know where to begin.
Suga could be anywhere.
Chapter End Notes
     -I feel like there's kinda a lot in this chapter, even though it's
     not the longest
     -Where is Suga?
***** The Castle's Tower *****
Chapter Notes
     "'Consensual sex' is just sex. To say that implies that there is such
     a thing as 'nonconsensual sex,' which there isn't. That's rape. That
     is what it needs to be called. There is only sex or rape. Do not
     teach people that rape is just another type of sex. They are two very
     separate events. You wouldn't say 'breathing swimming' and 'non
     breathing swimming.' You say swimming and drowning."
     --socialnetworkhell via tumblr
     -Words are powerful. I found this quote on tumblr that articulated
     what I was trying to get at toward the very end of the research scene
     last chapter where Suga starts off by saying "I've had sex, but..."
     He comes up with all these 'buts' and additions because he can't
     reconcile what he knows of sex with what actually happened to him
     because having sex and being raped are two different things. But in
     the end, he accepts this and is able to say it out loud.
     -That aside, this chapter is pretty short and basically all dialogue
     (ps, sorry for the long note)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Daichi calls every member of the Karasuno volleyball club, even Yachi, on the
off chance they’ve seen their silver-haired setter. No one has. Asahi decides
to join in the search and is driving around with Noya, while Saeko is driving
Tanaka and Ennoshita. Daich tells the first years to stay put, not wanting
anything to happen to them this late at night. They all, save Tsukishima,
initially argue vehemently but Daichi holds firm and promises to tell them as
soon as he finds anything out.
It’s been almost two hours and the hope of finding Suga is draining from
Daichi’s body as quickly as the heat is from his fingers and toes. The shops
are all closed or closing. He can’t imagine how cold Suga must be if he’s been
outside all this time.
It feels like he’s scoured the entire town.
Just when he wonders if maybe they should have called the police from the
start, he spots what looks to be a school bag underneath an empty swing. A
spark of hope warms his blood. He sprints across the barely lit park, toward
the playground, shouting Suga’s name. Suga has to be here. He’s looked
everywhere else. As he draws closer, a bike comes into view leaning against the
monkey bars.
“Suga?” There’s movement by the top of the slide, which catches his attention.
The structure is meant to be a castle tower, the plastic painted to look like
bricks and a metal slide descending from the tower’s “window.” Daichi climbs a
winding staircase to reach the small, enclosed area, where he finds a coatless
and shivering Suga sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest.
“Aren’t you freezing?” Daichi says incredulously. He whips off his jacket and
hands it to his friend before scanning him up and down for any signs of injury.
“Here. Take this.”
Silently Suga does, slipping his arms through the sleeves and then wrapping
them around his knees again. The tip of his nose and ears are red. So is the
area around his eyes.
“Suga, have you been here the entire time?” Daichi asks, sliding down to sit
beside him. Something about Suga’s demeanor and motionlessness tells the
captain that he should be especially cautious right now. If he thought his
friend has been acting strangely these past couple of weeks, Suga feels
completely alien in this instance.
“No,” Suga responds with a cough. “I’ve been riding around.”
“Why didn’t you go home?” Daichi feels like he’s steeling himself, hoping he
doesn’t sound like he’s calling Suga out on his lie earlier. He doesn’t want
Suga to get defensive or shut down.
“I was at the train station earlier. Part of me wanted to get on one and just
leave.”
Daichi’s eyes go wide as he tries to process this information. Leave to where?
Why? The idea of this place without Sugawara Koushi seems incomprehensible to
the dark-haired youth. A strong wind breaks through the “castle walls” and
Daichi’s thoughts, sending a shiver up his spine and raising goosebumps on his
arms.
“Where’s your jacket? Weren’t you cold?”
“It’s covered in puke,” Suga replies, surprisingly frank. “I was good for two
days before this. I thought I was doing better, but…I just—I messed up again.
I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Daichi says softly. “You’re trying. That’s what matters most.”
Suga straightens his legs and the two friends sit in silence for several
minutes. Daichi wonders if he should text the team and Suga’s parents that the
setter is safe, but somehow it feels like it would break this moment. See, the
silence doesn’t feel empty. He’s sure that Suga is just collecting his
thoughts. So, he simply waits and doesn’t rush his friend to speak even though
he’s dying with anticipation.
“Hey, Daichi.”
Suddenly Suga grabs his hand and laces their fingers together, gripping
tightly. Daichi almost jumps in shock. He turns his gaze on Suga, but the
setter’s got his eyes closed and is leaning his head back against the plastic
wall. Everything about this situation—from Suga’s running away and talk about
taking trains to the boy’s uneven breathing and iron grip—brings forth the
unease that has been resting in the pits of his stomach these last couple of
weeks.
Suga’s hand is freezing.
“I’ve been trying not to, but I’ve been thinking a lot…”
“Yeah?”
“You said I could tell you anything?” Suga says, voice the tiniest bit uneven.
“You said that it didn’t matter if it was bad or weird—that you wouldn’t
judge?”
“Anything, Suga,” he responds immediately and firmly enough to leave no room
for doubt. Daichi’s heart starts racing. Is he finally going to discover what
has been bothering his friend?
Still, Suga does question. “Promise?”
“You can tell me anything, Suga, I promise.”
The tower is completely noiseless for several minutes, but it feels longer.
It’s as if time has bent around the playground, leaving the boys unaffected by
its turning wheel with only the vague impression of moving forward. Even their
breathing feels off tempo.
Suga opens his mouth, but takes a while to speak. “It happened two weeks ago.”
His voice is so quiet yet strained and his eyes remained closed. His hold
tightens like he’s holding on for dear life, causing Daichi to grit his teeth
in pain and fight his first instinct to pull away.
Daichi waits.
Then Suga says:
“I was raped.”
The words shatter any quiet or calm Daichi had harbored in his heart. He
doesn’t for a second believe Suga could be joking. Rape. It feels too heavy and
too destructive a word to be spoken aloud in a children’s playground. Rape.
Suga was raped. No no no, this can’t be real.
Daichi’s eyes are glued to the silver-haired boy, and even as the hand in his
becomes more forceful and painful, even as the wind blows mercilessly, all he
can think is, Suga was raped? How can this have happened? How can this have
happened to Suga, the kindest person he knows?
Suga’s face scrunches up, seemingly in so much pain, and Daichi feels the echo
of it in his heart.
“Suga, I’m here,” Daichi says because he has no idea what to say. He wasn’t
expecting Suga’s secret to be of this magnitude. Of course, he wasn’t expecting
his best friend to say that he’d been raped. Suga’s eating disorder, the way he
wouldn’t let Daichi hug him that time, his quietness—is this the reason for
these things?
“I feel so dirty,” Suga confesses.
Daichi squeezes his hand trying to push his point across when he says, “You’re
not.”
“I am,” the vice-captain volleys, his voice steadily rising. “I’m disgusting.
It’s gross, what he did. You don’t understand what it was like—when he was
inside me—just remembering makes me want to puke.”
Everything hurts. Daichi’s chest feels constricted, but maybe that’s a good
thing because then the pressure will hold the pieces of his heart that feel
like they’re breaking. Who? Who? Who the fuck would do something like this? And
yet, the way Suga speaks about himself is the worst, a low blow he isn’t
expecting.
“You’re not dirty, Suga. You’re not at all,” Daichi insists. How can he make
Suga see this?
The setter finally looks at him, but Suga’s brown eyes are ablaze with anger, a
flicker of fire glinting through the sheen of tears. He turns his body
completely toward Daichi and practically spits at him when he speaks next.
“I’m not a virgin anymore! He took my first kiss! He took my first time! I’ll
never be able to get that back.” His chest rises and falls heavily. “The way
that he pushed me down and…and touched me…The way that he did everything else
so easily just feels like he owns me.”
Daichi finds it harder to breathe, horrible images painting themselves against
the inside of his eyelids whenever he dares to blink. It’s now, however, that
his own anger surfaces. He wants to kill whoever touched Suga. He wants to kill
the man who made his friend feel this way. He wants to kill him with his own
two hands.
“He doesn’t own you, Suga,” he says, trying to stay calm and not let his anger
seep through into his voice. There’s so much he wants to say—about Suga being
the absolute coolest, smartest, nicest person he knows and how there’s no way
that a disgusting man like that could ever own him. No one could ever be on a
higher level than Suga, so no one could ever own him. It makes sense in his
head, but he can’t make it make sense out loud, so he says, “You belong only to
you. No one else can own you.”
Suga hangs his head, silver hair creating a curtain in front of his eyes. “I
don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know. I hate this.” Before the captain can
formulate any response, Suga mumbles, “Daichi?”
“Yeah?”
A breath.
“I miss the old me.”
Another breath.
When Daichi sees the tears start to fall down the other boy’s face, he is
unable to keep his own at bay. He’d wanted to be strong for Suga. Strong.
Steady. Helpful. Does crying negate these things? Tears don’t count as judging,
right? Still, he searches for the right thing to say.
“I remember everything perfectly,” Suga continues. “It’s all I can think about.
I hate it. I just want to forget. And I can’t eat because everything tastes
like him.”
The captain swallows his fear and anger and regret and pity and heartache,
ignoring the lump in his throat, and just focuses on holding Suga’s hand. Fuck.
He wishes there was someone here to tell him what to do. He doesn’t know what
to do and it’s so damn scary.
“Daichi. He…” Suga struggles with the words. He folds so much into himself that
his forehead nearly touches his thighs where he kneels still clutching
desperately to Daichi’s hand. Body shaking, he tries again. “He…”
Daichi hates how much this is hurting him, so he scrambles to say, “You don’t
have to tell me. You don’t have to force yourself.”
Suga shakes his head. His voice is so low and so warped with emotion that
Daichi has to strain to hear it. “He—he made me use my mouth.” He shudders.
“That’s why I can’t eat right, I think.”
Oh, no. No. Daichi didn’t know that he could be made to feel any worse than he
already did. He can’t even imagine how Suga must feel. He can’t imagine at all.
And to think that the captain has wanted so badly to know what went through
Suga’s head when he forced himself to vomit. He had thought that if he knew
he’d be able to help, but now he realizes how childish the idea of a quick fix
is.
God, Suga has been living with all of this inside him for two weeks?
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that you’ve had to go through this and think about all
this for the past two weeks by yourself.” This, in no way, conveys just how
sorry he feels that he didn’t notice anything sooner.  
Suga doesn’t respond—doesn’t look up.
“Can I hug you?” Daichi asks hesitantly.
“Yeah, you can.”
Daichi pulls him into a hug slowly so as not to scare Suga and to avoid hurting
his nose. It’s an awkward position, their teenage bodies too big to move and
fit comfortably in the small space. There are other things too that detract
from the soothing intent, like the icy cold air and Daichi’s runny nose and
Suga’s ragged breathing. But still, Daichi wraps his arms around the boy he
loves as if in doing so he can keep their collective tears from falling and
their hearts from shattering any more.
“I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me,” Daichi says in the gentlest voice
he can manage between sniffles. “I’m glad you did, because I’m going to tell
you something now.”
“What?” His voice sounds exhausted.
Daichi employs the voice he talks to the team in—one that inspires
confidence—to say, “None of what happened was your fault. You’re not dirty,
you’re not broken, and you’re not weak. You’re still Suga. And you didn’t do
anything wrong, so you shouldn’t be blaming yourself at all.”
Suga begins crying in earnest, shaking like he’s choking. “I don’t want to feel
this way anymore. I want to go back to being the old me…Please…please…I just
want…I want to forget…please…”
Suga’s sobbing feels like being punched repeatedly. Daichi scrunches his eyes
shut and pulls Suga closer.
“I’ll be here for you, Suga. I don’t really know what to do, but I’ll be here
when you’re sad or confused or sick. I’ll be here. I won’t let anything else
happen to you, I promise.”
Chapter End Notes
     -He finally started to open up!
     -My favorite line: "Daichi’s chest feels constricted, but maybe
     that’s a good thing because then the pressure will hold the pieces of
     his heart that feel like they’re breaking."
***** Circumpolar Constellations *****
Chapter Notes
     -this chapter features unfounded headcanons, background Iwaoi,
     evidence of my obvious hand fetish, and some shade thrown at a
     certain reverse harem anime
See the end of the chapter for more notes
“Can I stay over at your house this weekend?”
Suga lowers the water bottle from his lips. “Huh?”
“You see,” Daichi says, wiping the sweat from his brow and dropping down onto
the bench. “My parents are visiting my aunt in Kanagawa, so I figured we could
hang out.”
He does remember Daichi mentioning this before, weeks ago, but he’d been under
the impression that it was a family trip. “I thought you were going too.
Weren’t you supposed to be looking at a college down there or something?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to go. I never wanted to go.”
Somehow—his stomach twists with those barbed-wire words burden, useless,
bothersome—Suga doesn’t believe the captain. He’s doing this because he doesn’t
want me to alone. Suga’s mind fills with Daichi’s words from last night. “I’ll
be here for you, Suga… I’ll be here. I won’t let anything else happen to you, I
promise.” Suga blushes just thinking about it and thinking about everything
that he had confessed. He stares hard at the water bottle in his hands.
“Look, you don’t have to stay just because of me, Daichi. I’ll be fine,” the
setter sighs.
“I want to stay,” Daichi reaffirms, glancing over his shoulder at the team who
are starting to grow restless as the break stretches on longer than usual.
“Besides, my parents left early since I said I wasn’t going. They’re already
gone. The only thing is that they were kind of pissed. So they said that if I
was going to stay, they weren’t leaving me money for food—that I had to use my
own money I have in savings, you know. So, uh, you’d actually be doing me a
huge favor by letting me stay over.” He ends with a small, hopeful smile.
Suga knows what he’s doing, trying to make it seem that by agreeing, Suga is
helping Daichi more than the other way around. The petty part of him
appreciates the sentiment.
“Okay,” he says and they both stand. “I’ve just got to tell my parents.”
“Your mom said it was okay if you said okay,” Daichi says.
This surprises Suga. He’d been joking before about his mom adopting Daichi, but
it seems like they’re a lot closer than he thought. They obviously talk about
him when he’s not there. It’s weird, your best friend and mom talking without
you, right? It irks him slightly.
The setter shakes his head. As long as Daichi keeps his secret as promised then
it doesn’t matter whom he talks to.
“Also, Asahi invited us to go to the planetarium on Sunday. It’s free for
students that day and he really wants to go. What do you think?”
He thinks that it’ll be crowded—full of wandering eyes and accidental bumps. He
thinks that both eating out or packing a lunch sound like stressful, and
therefore bad, ideas. He thinks a planetarium doesn’t sound like that much fun
anyways. But then he thinks about how he hasn’t gone out with friends in more
than two weeks. He thinks about Asahi inviting him and Daichi suggesting it,
even after everything, and he thinks that if he’s going to hang out with anyone
at a crowded planetarium, he’d rather it be with his two most trusted friends.
He can’t stay wrapped up in his blanket forever.
“Sure,” Suga says, knowing his friend is watching closely, and has been since
last night. They didn’t get the chance to talk much after Suga made Daichi
promise to keep everything he’d said a secret because Asahi and Noya showed up
then. They all piled into the car, Suga told a lie about why he’d been out
there, Daichi called everyone else, and then they took the vice-captain home.
“Really?” Daichi asks hopefully. “We don’t have to.”
We.The word doesn’t slip past the gray-haired boy. Relief battles the guilt
that he feels at Daichi’s inclusion of himself when it comes to their plans for
the weekend. Because of what happened, the dark-haired captain doesn’t want to
let Suga feel lonely. Or perhaps he wants to question Suga further.
Suga doesn’t want his friend to dig too deeply into his story because there are
parts he left out and parts he doesn’t want to say. Like when, how, who, where.
It’s easier this way. He can avoid angering Nakamura-sensei.
And he’s thinking about him again—thinking about the threats whispered in a
silky voice. Suga doesn’t want to be consumed by thoughts of him. Damn it, he
doesn’t want to. I’m going on Sunday, he decides determinedly. I’m going on
Sunday and I’m not going to think about him.
I’m going to have fun.
I’m going.
“Yeah,” Suga replies with a smile. “It sounds like fun.”
Daichi smiles back, relief washing over his features. “Let’s get back to
practice then.”
Before he can call out to the others, Suga interrupts him with a light elbow.
“Don’t forget to apologize to your parents. This trip was planned a long time
ago and I’m sure it was hard for them when you canceled last minute.”
Suga doesn’t know what possesses him to say this, but as soon as it’s out of
his mouth, he’s aware of how it sounds—chiding Daichi for staying behind when
it’s all really for Suga’s sake. The setter begins to prepare an apology in
fact, but Daichi’s smile widens into an unexpected grin. Suga is taken aback.
He was sure he overstepped his bounds.
“Go on and lecture him some more,” Tanaka laughs, coming up behind the pair,
baring his own rakish grin. “We’ve missed your motherly ways, Suga-san. There
was no one to keep Daichi in line.”
“Oh,” is all Suga manages while Daichi responds to the second year with a look
that sings, I’m imagining drills and laps to punish you with right now.
“Okay.” Daichi claps his hands together loudly. “Let’s get back to it.”
Morning practice flies by after that.
It’s strange, having someone know, having one person around whom Suga doesn’t
have to pretend to be completely fine. He can let his guard down for a second
and just breathe. It’s not something he ever truly believed a possibility
before today. Maybe there’s truth in his mother’s belief that talking can stem
the hurt just as surely as band-aids can stem blood from a cut, because he
feels different after his talk with Daichi last night.
Everything is going smoothly and the band-aid holds all morning. Then, at
lunchtime, he hears Nakamura’s name on the lips of a pair of students sitting
close to him.
“Nakamura-sensei has really been piling on the homework lately, hasn’t he?”
“It’s so brutal. I’m dying.”
“Me too! I hear he’s in a bad mood since his wife left him. They’d barely been
together three years.”
“So, he’s taking it out on us? Damn. We need to find Nakamura a new wife so
he’ll go back to the old Sensei.”
“Or at least a good lay.”
“Ha, would you be willing to take one for the team?”
“No way! No way!”
The conversation devolves into giggles and whispers, Suga setting down his
chopsticks and leaning back in his chair. He’d rather he heard nothing. He
doesn’t want to know anything about his teacher’s personal life or consider any
petty excuses Nakamura could have but never bothered with. He starts to feel
sick at the way these students fret over their homework and the way they speak
so nonchalantly about sleeping with a teacher.
You don’t know anything, he wants to shout at them.
Just as he stands, fists clenched but resolve wavering, Daichi reaches their
desks, carrying drinks bought from the vending machine. The captain hands over
a bottle of water.
“Hey, Daichi,” Suga says. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Sure.”
                                      ***
When Daichi opens his eyes that night, he chokes on his initial panic at not
being in his own bedroom. Then his brain catches up and he realizes he’s in
Suga’s room. The panic doesn’t completely dissipate as he soon notices that
Suga’s not in bed. Where? Daichi barely turns his head and catches sight of the
silver-haired boy sitting on his desk, a hand pressed against the dark
windowpane. The captain can’t decide whether the atmosphere here tastes
melancholy or hopeful. Suga seems so far away, and he’s not sure if that’s
necessarily a bad thing, given the circumstances.
“Suga?” Daichi sits up, wiping the remnants of drool from his chin. It must be
cloudy out because there’s barely any moonlight. He blinks, trying to adjust
his eyes to the darkness, the other boy’s silhouette the most distinct thing he
can make out.
Suga doesn’t seem surprised to hear Daichi in the slightest, and his voice is
completely even when he says, “It’s weird.” He turns but the captain still
can’t see his face clearly.
“What is?” Daichi asks nervously.
“You, knowing. I thought someone finding out would be the worst thing ever. But
it’s not,” Suga replies. Walking over to his bed, he throws himself down and
sighs. There’s a silence in which Daichi doesn’t know how to respond, or even
if he should. “It’s just weird.”
“Do you—?”
“Daichi,” Suga says while looking up at the ceiling, hands clasped together on
top of the blankets. “Let’s have fun this weekend.”
What is this resolve? He heard it this morning, and again at afternoon
practice, and now. Is happiness something you can really decide to feel? Daichi
thinks maybe happiness is something they’ve all taken for granted until now. He
supposes it doesn’t always come easy.
                                      ***
They spend Saturday inside, watching television and playing card games. They’ve
just finished binge watching the first season of a shitty harem anime when Suga
looks away from the TV to analyze the cards in his hands and discard pile
between where he and Daichi are sprawled out on their stomachs. He bites his
lip and picks up from the draw pile.
“I think I lost a few brain cells from that,” Daichi says.
“I think it’s only fair that we watch a reverse harem now.”
Daichi suddenly laughs and Suga glances up from where he’s been rearranging his
cards to see Daichi shake out his shoulders and lay all of his cards out in
front of him proudly, leaving one to discard. “Rummy!” he announces. “What’s
that, now? Four to two?”
Pretending to be disappointed, despite being glad for the company, Suga says,
“Stop kicking your legs like that, Daichi. You’re way too excited over one
game.”
“Let’s have a rematch then,” Daichi says confidently. “I’ll make it one more
win.” And he goes and does that eye-crinkling smile that both hurts and warms
Suga’s heart. He sits up and collects the cards while bobbing his head to a
song that must be stuck there, fingers deftly shuffling the deck, cards sliding
perfectly into place.
None of the cards go flying, which is what would happen if Suga tried. A part
of the vice-captain admires the control that Daichi wields over them while also
treating them gently. Daichi’s hands that can hit powerful spike and serves.
Hands that sting red when slapped hard with double high fives. Hands that slide
effortlessly through their owner’s dark hair. Hands that withstood my iron grip
in that playground tower yet also had touched my face so softly that day in the
hallway.
Daichi’s hands are kind of beautiful.
“Want me to teach you?” Daichi asks, yanking Suga out of his reverie and
pulling his gaze upwards. He’d been staring. A blush rises to the surface of
his face.
“Yeah,” Suga responds quickly. What are you doing? Why are you thinking about
these things right now? Do you have a hand fetish or something, Koushi?“I’m no
good at shuffling.”
So, the dark-haired captain spends a good ten minutes trying to teach Suga how
to shuffle, but Suga just can’t manage it. The setter laughs it off, they put
on an equally ridiculous reverse harem, and end up playing Spades and then
Poker.
“This is so bad,” Suga says after the fourth episode.
“I still can’t get over the fact that she fell for that twins excuse.”
“Well,” Suga starts, prepared to argue just for argument’s sake, when he
decides it’s too much effort. “Well, yeah, it was kind of dumb. At least the
music’s good.”
He feels himself growing tired—not physically, but mentally—and all he wants is
to hold desperately onto this easygoing feeling. Happy. Comfortable. Light.
Content. They’re such great feelings.I want to stay here, he thinks resolutely.
I want to stay in this moment, with this person, with these feelings.
If every tomorrow is like this, I think maybe I can stop fearing that day.
I think maybe I can find myself again, if every tomorrow is like this.
“Koushi, Daichi,” Suga’s mom calls, appearing at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m
in the mood to bake. Do you want cookies or cake?”
“Can we help?” Suga pipes up, pretending to not notice his mother’s surprised
look.
I’ll do anything to hold onto this feeling.
So, after washing hands and two minutes of Daichi trying to explain that he has
no cooking skills whatsoever and would be better suited to just watch, both
teens find themselves leaning against the middle counter wearing obnoxiously
frilly aprons. They agree to make cookies and cupcakes.
“I’m going to teach you. It’s going to be fine.” Suga pushes a bowl toward
Daichi and his own mixing spoon. “Will you get two eggs from the fridge?”
“I forgot, you’re a really good cook, aren’t you?” Daichi says.
Since he was fourteen, he’s been making his parents breakfast every morning.
Remembering the peaceful air of morning, the sun just barely a soft glow of an
idea in the sky, coaxes a smile out of Suga. He shrugs, trying not to think
about why he hasn’t touched a pot or skillet in weeks.
“Everyone in this house cooks,” he says.
His mother tsks. “He’s so humble. He’s really a wonderful cook.”
Daichi does everything he’s told. Still, he manages to lose an eggshell in his
flour, spill the said flour while trying to locate it, and drop his spoon a
total of three times, sighing after each incident and shaking his head.
Suga laughs and after the third time the wooden spoon clatters to the floor,
asks, “Aren’t you supposed to be skilled at receiving?”
“Volleyballs and spoons are completely different.”
“Well, you didn’t have to spill all over the place,” Suga sighs. He pulls aside
his apron slightly to show them the flour that has spread down the side of his
pants leg. “Look at this.”
“Sorry, Suga,” Daichi says, biting back his laughter.
The gray-haired setter pulls his apron off. “You sound like Yamaguchi,” he says
before muttering, “I’m going to change.”
Upstairs in his room, he glimpses his reflection in a small mirror sitting atop
his dresser. Suga pauses. The mirror is something he’s had face down since the
day after, his own reflection something he couldn’t really bear to be
confronted with daily. Daichi must have touched it last night or this morning.
The mirror catches his attention, though, not because it is standing upright
again, but because it reflects a genuine smile on Suga’s face. A smile
completely his own and not an act put on for anyone else. When he was alone.
When he wasn’t thinking about it.
Hmm.
When Suga reenters the kitchen his mother, father, and Daichi have their backs
to him, all standing close. What are they doing over by the sink? It dawns on
him and Suga strides to the counter and crosses his arms in exasperation.
“Mom! You’re not supposed to eating the raw dough!” Suga chides. “Dad! Daichi!
I leave you guys for two seconds…”
“I wasn’t eating anything, Koushi,” his mom says unconvincingly, turning around
and wiping her hands on her apron.
“Neither was I,” Daichi says after he swallows.
“Nope,” his dad adds in.
I’ll do anything to hold onto this feeling.
                                      ***
“Wow, this really is cool, Asahi,” Daichi exclaims.
“Did you agree to come expecting it’d be boring?” Asahi asks, grabbing the back
of his neck in embarrassment. His expression instantly morphs into one of
excitement as the line they’re waiting in moves forward. “Just you wait. This
next room is great.”
Just as expected, there are a lot of people here, from small children with
their parents to students their age. So far, when he’s busy looking at whatever
exhibit, he’s fine. Suga’s thoughts don’t wander and he’s able to enjoy
himself. But in transitional times like these, when their group is waiting in
line for the next exhibit or being shepherded from one room to another, the
lights seem to blaze above him and Suga becomes hyperaware of his body and
especially his skin. It’s like there’s a spotlight shining directly at him and
his outer layer is withering underneath the intensity.
He knows it’s irrational. He knows there’s no danger here. He knows no one’s
watching him and therefore breathing shouldn’t be any more difficult than
normal. He knows this.
Yet, any calm feeling can be abruptly and wholly overshadowed by anxiety.
I’ll do anything to hold onto that feeling of contentment from before.
Standing in that line under the lights of the hallway, waiting to enter into
the next room, Suga realizes that he has to fight tooth and nail to achieve any
happiness. He must fight against these thoughts in his head that say things
like “give up,” “this is all you are,” “trying is pointless,” “you don’t
deserve to be happy.” It’s really hard convincing himself that all of these
things are false, but he has no other choice than to give it his best shot.
Suga stops himself from looking around and instead focuses on his friends. He
asks, in genuine curiosity, “How many times have you been here?”
“I used to come here all the time with my dad. I don’t know why I stopped.”
Asahi’s eyes glaze over with nostalgia as an idle smile plays across his face.
“There’s always something I learn that I missed the time before.”
“So, you know all about constellations and stuff?”
Asahi releases a self-deprecating laugh. “Not really that much in depth. Just
the basics, you know?”
“Like what?” Daichi prods.
“Let’s see,” the ace says, brows scrunching up in thought. “Japan is in the
Northern Hemisphere, which makes a difference in what constellations are
visible. Also, it being fall affects it too. So, Andromeda, Aquarius,
Capricornus, Pegasus, as well as circumpolar ones like Cassieopeia, Perseus,
Ursa Major, Ursa Minor are visible. Some others too.”
Suga mutters, “Just the basics?” at the same time Daichi asks, “Circumpolar?”.
“Ah, yeah,” Asahi mumbles. “Circumpolar constellations never rise or set, so
they’re visible year-round. That’s not to say the others can’t be seen, it’s
just…nevermind.”
The doors open and finally they’re let into a dim, half-circle room with a
dome-shaped ceiling. The front of the room sinks in a shallow decline. The
chairs are like those of a movie theater, but the rows are curved like the room
and arranged in rings facing the walls. People start filling up the bottom rows
as they file in from the top. Suga follows close behind Daichi, letting his
gaze wander up to the ceiling, unable to judge just how high it is.
“Is this going to be a movie?” Daichi asks, falling into the seat beside Asahi,
leaving the aisle seat for Suga.
“Kind of,” Asahi says. “You’ll see.”
There are only two small doors, on either side of the top row. One is the door
everyone came through and the other is perhaps one used by workers. As the
seats begin filling, the level of chatter in the room rises, though it’s all
unintelligible to Suga. He starts rubbing his fists against his thighs, brown
eyes searching for nothing really, ears full of muted whispering. More waiting.
If it would just start already.
Suga feels a hand on his. He freezes initially and so does Daichi, but then he
breathes and opens up his fist for Daichi to hold. Daichi’s warm fingers wrap
around Suga’s lightly. When the captain glances over, his expression asks, Are
you okay?
Suga nods.
A friend holding another friend’s hand to quell the anxiety brewing in his
chest. Or, a hopeful someone trying to comfort the boy he loves. Suga can feel
the weight of Daichi’s hope in his hand. He’s known about his friend’s romantic
feelings for almost a year now, but the dark-haired boy never spoke them aloud,
so Suga pretended not to notice. He secretly dreaded the day when Daichi would
build up the courage to confess because the gray-haired setter had no idea what
he felt in return. He used to think a lot about how he’d respond if confessed
to. He once again contemplates the scenario.
After everything that’s happened, the idea of ‘him and Daichi’ has become even
more confusing to consider. And maybe it’s selfish of him—holding Daichi’s hand
now, spending so much time together this weekend, letting the captain hold him
while he cried in that playground, all the while knowing how Daichi feels.
Maybe he shouldn’t be doing this. Because—
He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know how he feels. All he knows is
Daichi deserves someone…better.
It’s true, having Daichi close calms his breathing. It helps him focus on the
real world instead of bad memories. And Daichi does this all without
realizing—this steadfast, brown-eyed wing spiker whom Suga’s known since First
Year, yet sometimes it feels more like forever.
But Daichi deserves someone untainted.
I’m thinking stupid things again. Stop. Besides—
The room plunges into pitch blackness, evoking a couple of quickly hushed cries
from children. There are a few moments of breathless silence. And then stars
spill out all around them. On the walls, on the ceiling, some slightly
different colors and slightly different intensities, the tiny lights dazzling
against the previous darkness.
It’s like someone scoured the night sky for these elusive diamonds and locked
them up in this dome-shaped room. It’s so realistic, and so beautiful. Suga’s
eyes are as round as dinner plates. He leans forward to catch a glimpse of
Daichi’s and Asahi’s reactions just as the narrator begins to speak, detailing
the early stages of Earth’s life.
The visuals zoom in and out and twist around as the narration continues, making
it feel like they’re flying through the sky. This, at once, evokes a feeling of
incredible minuteness underneath the vast blanket of thousands of stars, yet
also one of immense power. Suga’s grip tightens and loosens with each new
constellation that is featured, many of them those that Asahi had mentioned. He
feels like a little kid, sitting at the edge of his seat.
It’s so beautiful. Suga’s struck with the desire to gaze up at the real stars.
                                      ***
“Thanks for inviting us, Asahi,” Daichi says as they follow the throng through
the halls of the planetarium. “That was really cool.”
Suga feels lighter heading out than he did walking in. He doesn’t really know
why it’s easier to walk and breathe and think. “I had fun. Thanks, Asahi,
Daichi.”
“Suga,” Asahi says quietly, and then both he and Daichi are staring at the
setter with a mixture of surprise and relief. Suga feels himself begin to blush
under their gaze, so he raises his hands to wave them off, not knowing what to
say. Jeez.
One of the walls in the entrance hall catches his eye. The entire thing, floor
to ceiling, is a mural painted with the same stars they’ve just witnessed in
the movie room. It’s massive and spectacular and Suga doesn’t know how he
failed to notice it on his way in this morning. Weaving through the crowd, he
makes a beeline for it.
“Guys,” he calls over his shoulder as his friends hurry to follow. “Let’s take
a picture. You have a good camera on your phone, right, Daichi?”
They ask a passerby to take a photo of them. Other people are also taking
pictures in front of the mural, so Suga doesn’t feel out of place, even if
they’re mostly girls. After the stranger passes Daichi’s phone back, they all
huddle around the screen to see the result. Daichi’s grinning with his arms
thrown over Asahi’s and Suga’s shoulders. Asahi’s build and facial hair make
him look intimidating, the camera apparently unable to capture how wrong that
assumption is. Suga’s making a peace sign, eyes brighter than he remembers
seeing them lately. His looks at himself a second longer.  
“I look terrible.” His face is so thin and his hair’s a mess.
“You look fine.”
Asahi takes on a serious tone. “Guys, this is our last year. We only have a few
more months to—”
“Stop right there,” Daichi interjects. “Don’t get all nostalgic. It’s not over
yet!”
“I know. I know—I mean, Suga started it with the picture.”
“Suga didn’t start talking about how it’s our last year and everything’s coming
to an end and how we only have a few months to spend together.”
“I didn’t even get to that part yet,” Asahi says, completely on the defense.
The setter glances away from their argument and notices familiar brown hair in
the midst of the crowd unable to immediately recall who it is until they turn
to their slightly shorter, dark-haired companion and the boy’s profile comes
into view. The Seijoh captain’s expression is animated as he speaks to his
friend, leaning in close enough to make Suga’s curious gaze linger.
A dark blush spreads across the spiker’s face as he scowls, and it’s then that
Suga sees their interlaced fingers. Are they dating then? Somehow it doesn’t
seem that farfetched to the vice-captain. But holding hands doesn’t necessarily
mean anything. He and Daichi had just been holding hands for just shy of forty-
five minutes and they’re not dating. But Oikawa and Iwaizumi have always seemed
so close.
Oikawa rolls his eyes, the muddy brown orbs landing on Suga, recognition
lighting them. His expression completely reconstructs itself into something
more guarded despite the wide smile stretching across his face. Suga lifts a
hand in a half-hearted wave, noticing how swiftly Oikawa drops Iwaizumi’s.
Then Seijoh’s captain is cutting his way through the mass of people, Iwaizumi a
step behind.
“Karasuno’s Third Years,” Oikawa says brightly. “It’s been a while.”
“Ah, hi,” Daichi says while Suga and Asahi nod pleasantly. “It’s unexpected,
running into you here.”
“Well, Iwa-chan, here, doesn’t believe in aliens,” Oikawa says, voice
scandalized as if saying Iwaizumi doesn’t believe in something as simple as
air. Suga can’t tell how serious he’s being. “So, I thought I’d bring him here
to prove my point.”
“Oh,” Suga says when no one else responds.
The Seijoh ace hits Oikawa in the back of the head. “They don’t want to hear
about your alien theories. Nobody does.”
“Ow. Well then, what about volleyball?” the brown-haired setter asks,
expression sliding into something overconfident and smug. “I’ve been working on
my jump serve. Once it’s polished, I don’t think even you can receive it,
Captain.”
Cocky as always. Oikawa is extremely skilled though, so if he says he’s been
improving his serve even further, then it can only be considered bad news for
Karasuno. We can barely receive it as is. But Daichi is also highly skilled.
“Oikawa, don’t be an ass,” Iwaizumi scolds.
“I’ll guess we’ll have to see,” Daichi replies immediately, squaring his
shoulders. “I look forward to it.”
Iwaizumi groans as Oikawa opens his mouth, rendering the setter’s response
unintelligible. The spiker says, “We’re going to be late for the thing, Oikawa.
We should get going.” He shoots an apologetic look toward the Karasuno players.
“It was nice speaking with you. Tell Tobio-chan that I—”
“We’re going, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi growls, forcibly turning Oikawa in the
opposite direction, and calling over his shoulder, “It was nice seeing you.”
They all seem to hold their breath until they see the pair from Aoba Johsai
exit through the building’s front doors. Then they head in the same direction.
“That was certainly interesting,” Asahi says.
Suga nods and Daichi grunts in agreement.
“Do you guys want to come over to watch ‘King of Basketball’?” Suga asks. “We
can toss around a volleyball until it’s time.”
                                      ***
That night, Suga sits at his window again, staring out at the stars.
Circumpolar constellations never rise or set; therefore, they’re visible year-
round. They’re always there in the night sky when you look up, shining despite
time, despite distance, and despite the plight of some random person on Earth.
Some stars are even dead, yet their light still reaches out, unaware or
uncaring that they’ve been snuffed out.
Suga finds that incredibly admirable.
Chapter End Notes
     -Because I'm a sadist and a masochist, I will start to tear apart the
     progress Suga has made in the next chapter
     -I just like to ramble in these parts, so, 'Hi, it's been a while.'
***** Murphy's Law *****
Chapter Notes
     -ever have one of those days
     *trigger warnings for panic attacks;also in the dream there's a short
     rape scene*
See the end of the chapter for more notes
In the dream, the taste of blood is prominent. A hand covers his mouth,
preventing him from spitting it out as well as stopping any sound from
escaping. Another hand, spread out flat on his back, holds him down until his
face is squished against a familiar desk in a familiar classroom. The sudden
penetration forces tears from his scrunched eyes. His teacher’s pace only
encourages the screams building in his throat. He can’t make a sound though.
Just as he thinks this, he hears other noises: chairs scraping back, voices,
papers ruffling, zippers drawn. He opens his eyes to see the classroom bright
and full of students, his team, and his parents. Fear grips him tighter. He
doesn’t want them to see him like this. Why are there so many people here? And
why don’t they help him? A few glance his way, but quickly go back to their
conversations.
In, out. In, out. In, out.
The weight of that man, the force of that man, the smell of that man—it all
makes his stomach revolt.
Just when he’s sure he can’t take anymore, when he thinks he’s going to
suffocate, he realizes that the hand covering his mouth is his own.
And then he’s on a beach, fully clothed and soaking wet. The tide threatens to
drag him back to the depths.
In, out. In, out. In, out.
Hair plastered to his face, he crawls toward dryer sand harboring a sick
feeling in his chest and unsure as to why he feels so uneasy. The feeling
blossoms into dread when he stands, stumbles, and discovers the scratch marks
cutting through the skin on his forearms, dripping blood into the lines on his
hands. Coughing, he peers around at his quiet surroundings, spying a handful of
people in the distance, too far away to call out to. But there’s a house on a
hill and it fills him with a momentary hope.
For some reason, the urge to glance back toward the ocean seizes him and his
breath leaves him at the sight of bodies littering the beach where he climbed
out of the water. They’re all face up and pale, eyes wide and sky-bound. When
he draws closer, he sees the face of his mother, his father, Daichi, Asahi,
Hinata and the rest of the team, even Ukai-san and Takeda-sensei. He kneels
between the corpses of his father and Daichi. Somehow only he, himself,
survived.
Guilt clogs up his throat, rising and rising, until it turns to salt water and
blood. The taste of that metallic liquid quickly overpowers the seawater. Dead.
They’re dead. Mom, Dad… The weight of his isolation hits and he responds with a
throat-tearing scream.
Suga wakes from the nightmare with blankets twisted around his limbs and sweat
and tears coating his face. The contrasting quiet of the real world almost
gives him whiplash. He still tastes blood in his mouth and realizes that he
must have bitten his tongue in his sleep.
Mind still reeling from the dream and fear still present in the pit of his
stomach, the gray-haired teen rips the blankets away and stumbles for his door,
desperate. Bathroom, bathroom, bathroom. His stomach trembles in anticipation.
But he can’t get there in time. His stupid legs aren’t fast enough. They shake
and buckle, and then he’s on the ground in the hallway. His parents aren’t
here. He’s alone. Alone. He’s always alone, isn’t he? In the first half of the
dream, he wasn’t alone, but it felt that way.
Suga sucks in a ragged breath. His mind panics, wondering why he can’t get air
in. He can’t even breathe right. He tries again, and it’s even worse than the
first time—like he’s breathing through a thin straw, and it’s not enough.
Tears and snot drip down his face as he claws at his neck, his chest, trying to
release this pressure. Having company this weekend felt great, but now… He
feels like he’s on the verge of puking, but he can’t bring himself to. He wants
to breathe, but can’t. He wants to… He wants to…
He curls up into a ball.
Fuck.
He wants this to be over. He wants someone here. He wants to be fixed.
It’s a while before he realizes he can breathe normally again. Suga drifts back
to sleep where he is and wakes more than an hour later, confused. He tries to
orient himself.
It’s Monday. Both of my parents are working. I have school. I need to get to
school.
He stands, body weak and protesting. Dragging his feet, he gets himself to the
bathroom and into the shower. I’ve felt worse. I’ve gone through worse. I have
to go to school. He washes the sweat from his skin and stands motionless under
the showerhead until the warm water quells his shaking.
                                      ***
He missed a test first period, and the only time he’s able to make it up is
Thursday after school. On top of that, because of his tardiness, he’s assigned
cleaning duty every day this week. The universe must be laughing at him right
now.
Oh, how the universe loves to laugh.
The second Suga’s name leaves Nakamura-sensei’s lips, his body goes cold.
Everyone focuses on him and when he looks up to the front of the classroom and
locks eyes with Nakamura, he doesn’t expect his teacher’s gaze to be so flat.
In his nightmares and in his memories (is there a difference?), that gaze is
either the dagger-sharp glare of a comic book villain or else foggy with lust.
It’s never this devoid of emotion.
“Sugawara-kun, come solve this equation for the class.”
Suga stares, silently pleading for an exemption from this one thing. When
Nakamura’s eyes narrow, malice seeping in, Suga wonders why he ever thought
that things would go any differently. When has Nakamura shown him any kindness?
Before he can fully prepare, Suga is in front of the chalkboard. Deep breath.
He doesn’t flinch when the chalk is dropped into his hand. Deep breath.
Nakamura-sensei is standing only a foot away, wearing a suit and a patient
smile, arms crossed, hair tied back.
The gray-haired teen had practically bounded up to this desk, this spot that
day. No, it was more over there, closer to wherehe’sstanding. Suga had been so
relieved and appreciative to be able to earn extra credit. He hadn’t thought…
Mouth dry, he stares at the equation without comprehending until whispers and
giggles break the silence.
Concentrate. Take the derivative. Don’t pay attention to any of them. Ignore
the smell of him.
He can feel Nakamura’s eyes on him. His heart races. It’s like being violated
again, this time in front of everybody. Just like in his nightmare.
Concentrate. Substitute the answer in for Y prime and… Suga grits his teeth and
steals a quick peek at his teacher. Warm. Attentive. Supportive. That’s the
aura the man is currently projecting—everything a teacher should be—but Suga
knows there’s a disgusting, sadistic person underneath. After all, why else
assign Suga, of all people, this difficult, intricate, and long equation to
solve?
When he’s finally finished, he grips the chalk in his fist ready for the
dismissal that never comes. Instead, he feels two hands drop onto his
shoulders. He wants to sink into the floor. Of course, he has something more in
mind. This… I haven’t been touched by him in almost two weeks, yet I could
happily go a lifetime without this.
I hate you.
“Don’t go anywhere just yet, Sugawara-kun,” Nakamura says. “To make this more
of a learning experience, why don’t we have someone explain each of Sugawara’s
steps? Sawamura-kun, how about you explain?”
Suga’s eyes snap to Daichi, the dark-haired boy rising from his seat. This
isn’t a coincidence, Suga thinks while trying to keep a straight face. He knows
we’re friends.Nakamura’s grip tightens, almost possessively. He knows we’re
teammates. Daichi begins speaking and Suga zones out, not even trying to hide
it. He’s taunting me. I can’t break away from him without causing a scene and
raising questions I don’t want to answer. Daichi’s right there and I can’t call
for help this time. Or…
Could he be taunting Daichi? Without Daichi even knowing what’s going
on?Picking a fight with someone who doesn’t even know they’re being targeted
sounds like something Nakamura-sensei would do.
It’s an excruciatingly long time before the captain finishes speaking and
Suga’s finally allowed back to his seat. He doesn’t let his guard down—not
until after the bell rings, until he has his stuff packed up and is beyond the
threshold of the classroom. Suga sets a fast pace as he strides through the
hall.
Far away. I have to get far away. I don’t want him to call me back. I won’t go
back to that room, not today. I hate him so much.
I hate him!
After jogging down the stairs, he bursts through the doors and out into the
fresh air. But it’s not enough to simply be outside. He’s still surrounded by
so many people. There’s a place around the north side of the school that is
usually deserted because the odor of the dumpsters permeates through the air.
It’s not like the nightmare. Suga repeats it over and over, holding his head as
if that will keep his thoughts in order. It’s not like the nightmare. It’s not
like that. It’s not. Before he knows it, he’s speaking out loud, mumbling to
himself, “It’s not. It’s not. It’s not. It’s not...”
A sudden weight on his shoulder makes Suga jump out of his skin. His heartrate
spikes and his mind grows fuzzy momentarily. When he’s able to think again,
hands shaky and insides cold and aching from the remnants of fear, he realizes
that Daichi is standing in front of him, speaking, but the sound is not
registering with him.
Suga takes a step back, face sinking into a scowl. The setter’s hand stings,
and judging by Daichi’s shocked expression and hands raised in surrender, Suga
must have hit him reflexively. He doesn’t remember lashing out, but after a
closer look, Daichi’s left cheek is red. Catching his breath, he curses Daichi,
Nakamura, everyone.
“Don’t touch me,” Suga hisses. No, wait. I should be apologizing I think. His
brain still feels murky. “I don’t…”
“I’m sorry, Suga,” Daichi says, stricken.
The second half of the dream starts to replay itself in Suga’s mind’s eye, a
part that he didn’t remember upon waking.He was in a small boat on the ocean
with his family and Daichi. But then the waves gradually became larger and
larger. The boat capsized.
“Just leave me alone already.”
The captain shakes his head resolutely, saying, “I won’t right now. You’re
obviously not okay. You’re shaking.”
His mouth filled with water and panic strung his muscles tight. He flailed
against the waves even as the current dragged him further and further out, and
down. He sank. And then the other occupants of the boat were there, struggling
similarly. He heard his mother yell for him. He heard Daichi say his name.
 “None of this is your problem, so why don’t you give it up?” Suga sighs,
scrunching his nose against the smell of trash. He feels on edge.
“I promised I would be there for you when you’re sad or sick, no matter what.”
And he saw the boat floating upright a few yards away. But his clothes weighed
him down, pulling him under. Daichi reached under the surface to pull him up
and Suga clung to him. No. Wait. That wasn’t what happened.
Suga grabbed that outstretched hand and pushed him down instead. He climbed his
way to the surface by using Daichi as a foothold. Daichi had tried to hold on,
clawing at Suga’s arms, but the gray-haired boy in the dream didn’t hesitate to
detach the slippery hands and swim toward the boat.
 “I’m telling you, you don’t have to be. Enough of this.” Suga begins walking
away. Daichi, my mom, my dad, everyone—they all tried to help, but I did
nothing for them. I just used them. They drowned because of me.
I know it’s not real. I know it’s just a bad dream.
Why do I feel so guilty?
He hears Daichi approaching and part of him is glad, and hates that he’s glad.
Suga hates that Daichi makes him so hopeful. He hates that when he’s lonely or
scared the first face that pops into his mind, the hand the he reaches out for,
the voice he longs to hear all belong to Daichi. He hates how the mere sight of
the captain can make his heart race, yet also calm him when no one else can.
And he hates himself for pretending not to know what this all means, because if
he switches the word ‘hate’ for ‘like’ then everything would make so much more
sense, wouldn’t it? But he can’t deal with that now. What would that even mean
for him?
His chest hurts. He’s tired. He wants to be alone.
He likes Sawamura Daichi. In a romantic way.
And he feels so guilty.
“Suga, wait,” Daichi pleads, that tone getting him to stop before he can turn
the corner into the courtyard. Suga paces back to Daichi, feeling on the verge
of snapping, whether that will manifest as bursting into tears or another
thrown punch, he’s not sure.
“I’m just trying to help,” Daichi says.
“You’re just trying to get into my pants!” Like the physical blow he dealt,
he’s unaware of what he’s saying until it’s already out of his mouth and
hanging in the air alongside the smell of garbage. It makes him just as sick.
Yet something about watching his words register with Daichi and seeing the
boy’s brown eyes go from sympathetic to shocked—something about watching his
perfectly constructed expression shatter—is oddly satisfying.
“Wha—”
“You think I’ve never noticed the way you look at me?” Suga continues. He’s
never heard his own voice sound quite so snide. “How dense do you think I am?”
Daichi goes redder than Suga’s ever seen, and his eyebrows jump up. He
splutters, “I—Uh—That’s not what this is about at all!”
“So, you aren’t using this as an excuse to get closer to me? My guard’s down
and I’m emotional and you mean to tell me you’re not taking advantage of that?”
He’s argued with Daichi before, but never over anything half as serious as
this. It was always stupid little things like copying homework or volleyball or
stealing part of his lunch.
“No!” Daichi yells, frustration replacing embarrassment. “I would never take
advantage of that!”
Distantly, Suga thinks, this is what bullies do. I’m just hurting him, and I
have no reason to hurt him. Just that it makes me feel…in control? It makes me
feel…better…momentarily…when I don’t think about it. Daichi doesn’t deserve
this.
Quietly: “I would never hurt you, Suga. You have to believe that.”
“I don’t.” I do. I know you would never. “You’ve liked me for a long time…”
‘I’ve wanted you for so long,’ Nakamura whispers in his memories.“…but lately
you’ve been especially close. It’s weird.”
“No. I said I was going to be there. I promised,” Daichi says firmly. He waits
a breath before calmly stating, “It’s true that I like you, but I would never
force myself on you. That’s—”
The waves roll mercilessly. Daichi reaches for Suga. Suga grabs ahold of his
wrist, detaches it, and—
 “I don’t have those kinds of feelings for you.”
—lets go. The vice-captain watches the boy sink, not sure if he’s the one
drowning in his own lie.
“Period,” he asserts, twisting the knife further. “I never will. To be honest,
I find the idea of being with a guy…” Stop. Stop. Stop right here, Koushi,
while there’s still time to turn back. “…gross.”
Daichi doesn’t look him in the eye. He says, in a quiet voice that lacks the
confidence from earlier, “Okay. That’s okay.” He nods as if Suga has said
something worth thought. He runs a hand through his short hair and continues to
avoid eye contact. Suga can tell he’s biting his lip. Why does he want to hurt
his best friend like this? Why is he so invested in seeing how far he can push
the captain?
“You’ve never had sex with a guy, have you, Daichi?”
Daichi shakes his head slowly, voice solemn when he says, “It’s not the same as
what he did to you. I haven’t, but I know it’s not—”
“If you’ve never been with a guy, how do you even know that you’ll like it?”
Daichi smiles then. He fucking smiles and says, “Suga, I know you’re just
trying to goad me.”
You’re the one goading me, with that smile and that soft voice and the way you
take my hand easily when we’re alone. I hate the confused way I feel when I’m
around you—the feeling like I’m going to be washed away by a strong current or
blown into the sky by the wind.
“I understand,” Daichi says. “And I know you’re hurting right now, so…”
“You don’t know anything!” Suga interjects. How could he say that he knows?
What does he know?
“Then tell me something.” And for the first time during this fight, Daichi
seems to growing legitimately agitated, beyond simple frustration and different
from the anger he uses to keep the team in check. “You know who did this to
you, don’t you? You do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so evasive all the time.
You’re not telling me for whatever reason, and—”
“You’re wrong,” Suga lies.
Daichi groans, and his voice rises with each word. “And you’re lying. Is it
someone in our grade? A-are you safe at home?”
“You’re accusing my dad, now?” I wanted this, didn’t I? I wanted a fight. I
wanted to provoke him.
“What am I supposed to think? You lie about not knowing who did this to you,
you lied that day you skipped practice, you’re lying to your parents. You lie
every day when you say you’re okay, and you don’t need to.Why are you being so
stubborn about this?”
“Stop,” Suga cries, raising his hands between them. Why are you crying, Koushi,
you wanted this right? “I guess I’m nothing but a fucking liar. It doesn’t
matter what I say now.”
“Did he threaten you? We can call the police if he did. Hell, we can call the
police if he didn’t.”
Nakamura did threaten him. He said all sorts of things. Things that sounded
like they’d hurt. Things that sounded like they’d be humiliating. Things that
Suga had never heard of. He laid out all of the teen’s options and then slowly
dismantled them one by one with a coercion so convincing that Suga almost
believed that Nakamura had his best interest at heart. That last line wasn’t
even necessary by that time.
‘If that doesn’t inspire you to keep your mouth shut, then I could always do
all that to one of your friends instead.’
“Stop!”Suga repeats. He wipes the tears from his face furiously. “I just don’t
want to think about it. You wouldn’t either. Please just let it go.”
“Suga, I’m sorry. I just want to help. I just—”
The gray-haired teen jumps back from Daichi’s reach. “Don’t touch me.”
Daichi flinches, retracting his hand.
 “I’m sorry okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I make you uncomfortable.”
A strong gust of wind blows through the grounds. Both teens bury their ungloved
hands in their pockets. Suga regrets it all. You crossed the line a long time
ago. You should have stopped a long time ago. You should have
apologized.“Daichi…”
“What do you want me to do, Suga?” he says, voice flat and resigned.
Forgive me, he wants to say but doesn’t. “Just give me some time. Some space.
Stop picking apart everything I do. And stop calling my mom.”I think he
drowned. I think I drowned him. He’s the first casualty of mine. Suga sighs.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have cleaning duty for Hayami-sensei.”
                                      ***
“It seems like Daichi-san and Suga-san are still fighting,” Yamaguchi mentions
as they mill around before practice.
Hinata’s fist clench, unsure whether he should tell the other first years about
what he overheard yesterday before practice. He knows he shouldn’t have heard
it. Daichi-san’s raised voice sort of froze him in place as if that anger had
been directed at Hinata. The orange-haired spiker had peeked his head around
the corner of the main building just in time to hear the captain accuse his
friend of lying.
“What’s wrong, dumbass?” Kageyama asks. “You look like you’re thinking too
hard. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Shut up,” Hinata grumbles. Face scrunching up, he teeters on the edge of
speech, but after another thirty seconds of everyone looking at him, waiting,
he bursts, “I heard Daichi-san and Suga-san arguing after school yesterday.”
Tsukishima is the first to speak, saying, lazily, “It’s none of our business if
they’re fighting or not.”
“But—”
“We shouldn’t pry. Were you eavesdropping?” Kageyama adds.
Hinata’s expression falls into a frown.  “No, I wasn’t, but—”
“Hinata, I think Tsukki and Kageyama are right,” Yamaguchi says gently. “This
is something that doesn’t concern us, I think.”
“But it sounded really serious,” the short spiker says before anyone can
interrupt him. He rushes, “Daichi said Suga-san was lying about stuff and asked
if Suga-san was safe at home, and he mentioned something about someone
threatening Suga-san, and he said they could call the police, and then he said
about how he just wanted to help and—”
“What are you talking about? Slow down, Hinata.”
He’s got their attention now, all three of the previously disinterested first
years leaning closer as the rest of the team arrives.
“It sounded like someone was threatening Suga-san, but he wouldn’t tell Daichi
who, no matter what Daichi said. And Daichi-san said they could call the
police.”
“What did Suga-san say to that?” Yamaguchi asks hurriedly.
“He wouldn’t answer. He just kept telling Daichi-san to ‘stop.’ And then
Captain kept on apologizing and apologizing, but…” His gaze drops to his feet.
Thinking back to the scene, Hinata remembers what looked like tears flowing
down Suga’s face, which was perhaps the most shocking thing about the entire
situation. Seeing Suga-san cry over something that wasn’t volleyball was
surreal. During these past weeks of the setter looking sick and sad sometimes,
and even after he had broken his nose, Hinata hadn’t seen him cry once.
“What?” Kageyama demands.
Something else bothers him. He says, “No matter how many times Dacihi-san
apologized, he wouldn’t forgive him.”
Yamaguchi frowns. “That’s not like Suga-san.” Hinata can tell that Yamaguchi is
thinking hard, and hopes that the pinch server will be able to figure out
something that he had not. Volleyball is most fun when everybody is having fun.
He just wants the team to go back to how it was before.
“It seems like Daichi-san knows more about what’s going on than we do,”
Tsukishima says, breaking the silence. “So, we should leave it to him.”
Hinata gapes up at him. “But Tsukishima, they’re not talking right now. What if
Suga-san needs us?” he says. “We should all do something for him, to show him
that we’re here for him.”
“Oy! What are you guys doing over there?” Tanaka yells at them. They all jump.
“Didn’t you hear Daichi? Come on.”
“What should we do?” Yamaguchi asks.
Tsukishima just sighs.
                                      ***
After morning practice on Wednesday, Suga finds the little orange-haired spiker
in front of him bouncing from foot to foot and complimenting him generously.
Suga lets out a breathy laugh at all the energy the first year still has.
“Suga-san,” Hinata starts, sounding giddy. “I’ve just got this new game I’ve
been waiting for, and Kenma told me that it’s really cool, so would you like to
come over and play it with me? I’ll make sure my little sister won’t bother us
and it’ll be super fun.”
Suga goes from surprised to confused to bemused in the space of five seconds.
“I’m sorry, Hinata. I have a lot of homework to do, and studying for a test I
missed, so I can’t. Thanks for inviting me though. Maybe Kageyama would like
to?”
“Aw, all right,” Hinata mumbles, disappointed. “Raincheck?”
“Of course,” Suga replies confidently. A fond smile plays at his lips as the
short spiker brightens instantly and traipses off.
It happens again, during morning break when Suga is switching out his history
books for science. Kageyama strides up to him, wide-eyed and looking out of
place. Suga watches him approach with a furrowed brow, thinking, what can it be
now? What can’t wait until Club?
“Sugawara-san, do you have a moment?”
“Sure,” he replies, closing his locker with a dull click.
Kageyama nods to himself before saying, “It’s about, uh, the signals you came
up with.”
“Yes?”
Kageyama looks put on the spot, which is bizarre because isn’t Kageyama the one
who approached him in the first place?
“Um,” the ravenette starts. “Uh, they’re really great. And…you’re…great for
coming up with them. Thank you so much.” Kageyama then drops into a bow, turns
on his heel, and speeds away without saying anything more. People passing by
stop to look between the retreating first year and Suga, who’s standing there
with his mouth open.
What on earth was that about?
When Yamaguchi shows up in his classroom at lunch, waving from the doorway,
Suga is not entirely surprised, though his patience is starting to wane. He
wonders what these first years are up to because this can’t be coincidental.
“Suga-san, are you feeling well?” the freckled boy asks with a pleasant smile.
Suga studies him, from the genuine question in his eyes to the way he holds his
hands together in front of him. The piece of hair that always sticks up sways
just barely when he tilts his head. Suga concentrates back on his kouhai’s
face. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“Do you need anything?” Yamaguchi is quick to ask. “Maybe something from the
vending machine?”
“Daichi is getting some drinks already. Thank you. But you should go eat your
lunch before you run out of time.”
“Okay,” the boy says after a pause. He waves again. “See you later, Suga-san.”
The setter lays his head down on his desk, eyelids floating closed. It seems
that even with holding Daichi at a distance, he can’t exactly shake all of the
questions. He has a sneaking suspicion that Daichi is behind this though. He
yawns. A nap sounds good right about now—besides he doesn’t think he’ll be able
to finish his lunch anyways.
An hour and a half later, during afternoon break, Suga finds himself peering up
at a quiet Tsukishima. “Can I help you?” the setter asks, perhaps a little too
curt.
Tsukishima pouts, disrupting his usual bored expression. “How are you feeling?”
he asks, sounding like a petulant child their mother forced into being nice to
a distant relative.
“I’m fine. Thanks for asking. But why?”
The blond blocker shrugs, avoiding Suga’s gaze. “No reason,” he says. “It’s
nothing. Have a nice day.”
Even Tsukishima’s in on it. It has to be his doing.
After class, Suga strides up to the captain’s desk, determined to get answers
out of the person he’s sure is behind this. “Daichi,” Suga almost growls,
leaning on the captain’s desk once he’s sure no one’s paying attention. “Did
you tell the first years to check up on me?”
“I did no such thing,” Daichi responds, standing and gathering his things.
Suga glares. “Then why is it that every time I turn around one of them is there
asking how I am or offering to do me a favor? Even Tsukishima showed up during
break to ask how I was feeling.”
“I don’t know, Suga,” Daichi says with an edge to his voice. “Maybe because
they care about you. Maybe because they’re worried about you. Why is that such
a bad thing?” Daichi pushes in his chair loudly and stalks out. The few
students who are left start throw curious glances toward Suga.
In his periphery, Suga sees Nakamura smiling while shuffling papers, hair taken
down from its ponytail and shielding his eyes. He’s happy, is he? Suga bites
his tongue and hurries to meet Hayami-sensei before he finds himself alone with
Nakamura.
                                      ***
The makeup test doesn’t take long. Suga brings his hands up to his mouth to
warm them as he hurries across the front courtyard to his bike. Lampposts stand
at frequent intervals, smearing the otherwise indigo air into a brightly lit
canvas of familiar bushes and benches. In the distance, Suga swears he can hear
the sound of shoes squeaking against the court and volleyballs slamming into
the gym floor.
He told Daichi he would miss practice today, even though he knew the test
wouldn’t take so long. Here’s another lie to add to my rap sheet. He doesn’t
feel like having the eyes of the entire team on him, trying to discern why he
flubbed that last toss or why he doesn’t smile like he used to.
Besides, he and Daichi aren’t even properly speaking right now, so it’s
probably easier for everyone if he doesn’t show. As he pushes his bike past the
main gate, he blows out his breath, watching it twist in the air in front of
him. It’s been very cold this past week.
Out of nowhere, Suga’s bike is lifted from his hands and fitted into a car’s
trunk. His mouth drops open in indignation, mind conjuring up a scenario of a
robbery, but when the man crosses through the brightness of the taillights and
onto the sidewalk, Suga wishes it were a mere robbery. He stumbles backwards a
little bit, his movements slow, brain still a step behind.
Him.
Nakamura swoops the teen into his arms and holds him there, flush against his
body. He lets his hands wander down Suga’s back as though he’s been granted
every right to the boy’s body. Suga’s arms get stuck at his sides in the
process. The man smells of obnoxious cologne and sweet alcohol.
“Sugawara,” Nakamura-sensei mumbles into his ear. “It’s been too long.”
Chapter End Notes
     -writing this was mostly fun but editing it was bad for the heart
     -anyways, the pace picks up for a while, the next four or five
     chapters all happening within the same 24 hours, so "omg, whatever
     could happen to warrant such a thing?"
     SHARPEN YOUR PITCHFORKS
***** 'Wear Your Seatbelt' *****
Chapter Notes
     fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
     -Take breaks, prepare fluffly fanfics, hold a puppy, curse me out in
     the comments--do whatever you need to do to get through this. Or
     don't. Skip the last scene, from right after Nakamura's like "wear
     your seatbelt. it'll keep you safe" if you need to. Tread carefully.
     ***Trigger Warnings: VIOLENCE, RAPE***
See the end of the chapter for more notes
“Naka—” Suga starts.
“Why don’t you come with me.” It’s not posed as a question. Nakamura pulls
back, keeping one arm wrapped firmly around the boy, moving toward where he’s
already opened the car door for Suga.
Digging his heels into the pavement, the setter pushes back. “No. No, I can’t.”
If what happens that day happens again, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He’ll
have to start over again from scratch. Or maybe it won’t be as bad. Or maybe it
will be worse. Why can’t he be like every other high school student who only
has to worry about school and clubs or maybe a job, but certainly not this.
“Why not? You’re skipping practice, are you not? You have time before you’re
expected home.”
“Please, just let go. I won’t say anything.”
“But that’s not true, is it?” the man says. “You may not have said my name, but
you did tell those friends of yours.”
Suga’s eyes go wide because he knows there’s no way that Nakamura-sensei could
know that he said something to Daichi. “No,” he lies desperately, recalling all
of the things his teacher threatened to do if he spoke out. He tries to quell
the rising fear in the pit of his stomach. “I didn’t say anything. I swear.”
“It must be nice, having friends that are so accepting.” His tone doesn’t sound
like he thinks it’s nice. Suga opens his mouth to deny saying anything, but is
quickly cut off. “They’re all so protective of you. Lately every time I glance
up, someone is there looking after you. They’re like little guard dogs. Except
Sawamura-kun of course.”
“Let go of me.”
“He’s been distant. What happened? Did he take it badly since he liked you? Was
he mad because he didn’t get to be first?” Nakamura’s hand travels down to
Suga’s ass, squeezing it with a laugh.
He flinches hard and hits his teacher’s hand away, but the man just grabs his
wrist. “Get your hands off me,” Suga growls, putting as much strength into his
voice as he can. It turns into a scuffle, the boy’s limbs blocked and dodged at
the last second, Nakamura’s reflexes just as good as Suga’s. Frustration digs
its fingernails into Suga’s chest. His teacher cages him against the against
the car and brings his face too close.
“Nothing’s going to change,” Nakamura declares.
Damn that matter-of-fact tone. Damn that gaze he can’t hold. Damn every breath
that comes out of this man’s mouth because it feels like a knife dragged along
his skin.
“You’re just going to go home and mope, and then come to school tomorrow and
smile to those cute little first years while worrying the entire afternoon that
I’m going to ask you to stay after again. Correct me if I’m wrong.”
“You’re wrong,” he says easily. Suga’s mind completely disagrees.
“I don’t think I am. You see, I understand you, Sugawara. Better than anyone
else.”
Suga can only shake his head.
“Let’s see. You feel bad because they’re spending so much time worrying about
you. You don’t want to be fussed over, but you can’t seem to do anything
yourself,” Nakamura muses, and Suga’s reaction is all that he needs to
continue. “So, you keep using them. You take from them and take from them and
don’t give anything in return. And that’s how it’s going to be. What do you
possibly have to give? I doubt even Sawamura-kun will want you after you’ve
been screwed by someone else. But you’re nice and sweet right, so maybe that’s
enough for him.”
Every word out of the man’s mouth is poison seeping into Suga’s bloodstream.
The mention of Daichi brings the fight to the forefront of his mind, all the
things the setter said raining down on him heavily. You’re just trying to get
into my pants. So, you aren’t using this as an excuse to get closer to me. I
find the idea of being with a guy gross. I don’t have those kinds of feelings
for you. ‘Nice,’ right. He wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t said those things.
“Or have you not been lately? Is that why he’s not speaking to you?” Suga
shrinks away from Nakamura’s words and closeness, telling himself to ignore it
all. But he can’t. “And now you’re all alone, despite everything. I bet you’re
wondering if you’re really worth all this attention. You’re not the smartest or
the best at sports or a natural leader. You’re not much of anything. They don’t
really understand you anymore either. But I do. I’ve seen all of you. You don’t
have to hide anything from me. I’ll show you your worth.”
It’s difficult to breathe. “Why me?” he says, hating the way his voice
sounds—like he’s on the verge of tears. He doesn’t want to show weakness in
front of this man and he doesn’t want Nakamura to know just how much his words
get to him, but in the very back of his mind, in the last minutes before sleep
every night, he’s always wondered. “Why are you doing this to me? Why’d it have
to be me?”
“Come with me and find out.”
His lips quiver, barely forming the words, “I’m not stupid.”
“You’re not fighting,” Nakamura replies with the lilt of a smile.
“I hate you.” He hits Nakamura but can’t muster the strength to make the man
blink. He’s so powerless. Maybe it’d be better to hit himself, so then he’d
come to his senses instead of feeling more and more like his mind is falling
down a sinkhole. “I hate you. Fuck, I hate you. Why?”
“Are you sure you just don’t hate yourself?”
No!
No.
no.
Yes. His stomach twists viciously until he’s doubled over, spitting nothing but
saliva and vision swimming. No, he does hate himself. He hates himself so much
for everything. For what happened that day. And after, for making himself puke
and getting caught and scaring the team. For telling Daichi because obviously
Daichi is better off not being in the middle of this. He hates himself for what
he said. For how he’s acted since. Suga thinks back over these three weeks.
He’s really not worth all the trouble he’s put everyone through.
“You’re just being stubborn at this point.”
Is he? Suga raises his head. Is it being stubborn if everyone just keeps
pushing and pushing, like Nakamura is now, edging him closer to the open car
door like he wouldn’t notice. He supposes that is the definition of stubborn.
Why is he even struggling this hard when everything would be so much easier if
he didn’t? Nakamura pushes Suga into the passenger seat. It hurts so much to
fight. He always feels like he’s on the verge of shattering. Everything is
always so cyclical and ends up where it started—like, every time I make some
progress, it’s always undone by week’s end. He should just give up. Give in.
I’m so tired of fighting.
He welcomed the sinkhole in his mind, slipping further and further into the
abyss.
Vaguely, Suga hears the car door shut between him and the outside world. Then
Nakamura’s beside him starting the car, and he watches the school gate slip
further and further away until the image is swallowed up by the dark.
                                      ***
The longer they drive, the more time Suga has to think about what he’s done and
the more restless he becomes. What was going through his head earlier? Mind a
little clearer now, Suga doesn’t understand how this man—this absolutely
disgusting man—talked him into getting into this car. 
The cogs in his mind start turning, trying to devise a way out of this
situation. He sneaks a glance at Nakamura. He doubts the man will let him go if
he asks. Fists clench in his lap as he thinks, How could I have let him mess
with my head like that? How? His heart beats faster.
“Where are we going?” he dares to ask. Nakamura’s house, some love hotel, a
deserted parking lot—Suga’s imagination conjures up scenarios, each making him
more nervous than the last. The teacher doesn’t answer, doesn’t even spare a
glance in Suga’s direction so he clears his throat. “Nakamura-sensei.”
“A place I used to go,” Nakamura finally replies after another long silence.
Why does that sound even worse? Unable to stay calm, he’s afraid he won’t be
able to get himself out of this. He’s frightened and he’s angry and Nakamura is
so serene. He hates that Nakamura is collected. He seizes onto this hate like a
lifeline because it’s not directed at himself. Like with Daichi, Suga wants to
crack that façade.
“So, why did your wife leave you?”
“Students know about that, huh?” Nakamura comments, an edge to his voice even
though he tries to pass it off as aloof. His voice only grows louder and more
bitter. “She left because she found out about the prostitutes. It isn’t as if I
was anything less than kind and generous with her. But the greedy bitch decided
to blackmail me. She’s got proof and she threatened to go to the school if I
didn’t give her the house, everything in it, and practically all of my money.”
“Oh, that’s what happened?” Suga’s voice is noticeably lacking in empathy.
“What does that mean?”
Having driven through most of the residential areas of town, the houses are
getting sparser here. There’s more fields and vacant lots, the mountains
looming in the distance. It’s starting to seem likely that the place that
Nakamura used to go is out of town.
“Nothing. Just that you seem—”
“What?”
“Nevermind.” Suga can see Nakamura’s calm mask slipping and revels in it. He
wants to keep prodding. Furthermore, if his teacher is going to be this frank,
he might as well keep questioning. “But why did you…do that…rape me when you
have prostitutes?”
“I told you! The bitch took all my money!”
So, because I was free.
“But you—” Before he can finish, Nakamura’s fist slams into his cheek, spinning
his head toward the window. Pain explodes throughout his face like a grenade.
Suga blinks, mouth still open around a forgotten word, too shocked or too
frightened to move his face from the position it was put in. He remains
perfectly still.
“I told you, didn’t I? Christ, you don’t listen,” Nakamura spits.
Suga cringes away from the loudness of his voice, jumping when his teacher’s
hand touches his neck lightly. Gently. He wants to cry. The word “relative”
pops into his mind. As in, ‘relative to the strike across his face, this hand
on his neck is bearable.’ He knows that he hates it—he hates Nakamura’s hands
on him in any way—but at least it’s not the punch from seconds ago. At least
it’s not a hand in his pants. Relative to those things, this is okay. He tells
himself this but still can’t look Nakamura’s way.
“You need to listen,” Nakamura whispers.
Okay. Suga bites his lips together to keep from screaming at himself.
“I thought you were beautiful from the first time I saw you,” Nakamura purrs
while playing with the hair behind the teen’s ear. “You remind me of him.”
Suga stares down at his hands folded in his lap, biting back tears. “Who?” he
asks even though he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to care if he tried. All
he knows is that Nakamura isn’t violent right now—the man isn’t hurting him,
and he wants it to stay that way for as long as possible.
“Who?” Nakamura repeats, lost in thought. “Someone I knew in high school. A
senpai on my baseball team. Fourth batter.”
When the car stops again, Suga thinks to himself, mouth already starting to
swell from Nakamura’s punch. I’ll jump out when the car stops. For now, he’ll
listen patiently, keep Sensei talking, and wait for his moment. Maybe the man
will be so caught up in the memories that he’ll stop paying attention long
enough for Suga to make his escape.
“Fourth batter, huh?” Suga says thickly around his swollen cheek. He slips a
hand to the seatbelt buckle, gauging when the best time to unbuckle it will be.
“Isn’t that the position given to the best batter? What did you play?”
“Usually the third has the highest average while the fourth has the power. On
the field, he played Shortstop; I played Left Field. If anything slipped past
him, it was my job to back him up. You look just like him, Sugawara.” Nakamura
pauses. “He was a real bastard.”
Suga’s heart sinks. “Oh,” he says. If there’s animosity here, maybe this isn’t
the best subject after all. Still, he steels himself and asks, “Why?”
“My second year I didn’t get to play often because a lot of third years stuck
around. Anyways, there was one game I played because somehow the usual
Leftfielder came down with food poisoning.” The way that Nakamura’s mouth
curves up at the edges when he says this makes Suga pretty damn sure that the
food poisoning was no accident. The man’s fingers twine through the teen’s gray
locks fully. “I played a great game. You should have seen it. And I have been
riding on the high of the win because I confessed to him that night. And he
ignored me.”
Maybe he rejected you because you’re the type of person to poison a senpai so
that you could play in a game. Maybe he could tell, even then, that you would
grow up to be a person who raped boys half his age.Suga remains silent, having
learned his lesson about his comments on Nakamura’s wife.
“But a week later he approached me. You want to know what he said?” Nakamura’s
grip suddenly turns viselike, fingernails digging into Suga’s scalp and causing
him to cry out in pain. With a handful of the setter’s hair, he hisses, “He
said, ’Suck my dick. You said you loved me, didn’t you?’ And not just his.
Three other third years also wanted in on the action. Because I was dumb and
thought I was in love, I did it every week until they graduated. It was the
only time I could get him to look my way.”
Nakamura drags Suga’s head down to his lap. “Here. Why don’t you blow me?”
The seatbelt digs into Suga’s shoulder, chest and neck craned awkwardly over
the center console, face so close his nose is brushing Nakamura’s thigh. His
hands scrabble to detach his teacher’s as water springs to his eyes. “Please.
Stop. It hurts. Let go. Stop.” He can’t get leverage no matter how hard he
tries to pry the other’s fingers away. All he can see is the fabric of
Nakamura’s slacks and the seat cover beneath him.
Finally, after another minute of struggling, Nakamura releases him with an eye
roll and the complaint, “You’re no fun.” For a few minutes, he thrums his
fingers on the steering wheel. “Let me give you some advice, Sugawara. It’s
about that boy Sawamura. He doesn’t love you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Suga replies immediately. He knows
he’s pushing his luck—hell, he’s sure there’s still remnants of terror dancing
around his irises—but he can’t have his teacher thinking Daichi is any closer
than he actually is. The further the captain is from this entire situation, the
better. So, he says, “It’s not like that. At all. He’s just a friend.”
“I know teenage boys. I was one and I’ve been teaching them for almost ten
years. They’ll just use you while they can and then get rid of you.”
“Like you did to me?” Suga quips. His hand inches back to the seatbelt buckle.
It has to be soon.
“You sure are mouthy today. Yet, you don’t want to put it to good use.”
“No,” he says. He clicks the button, covering the sound with a feigned coughing
fit. After regaining his composure, and with a hand clutching the belt, Suga
says, “Daichi would never in a million years use me like that. He’s a good guy.
Daichi is—”
A hand falls onto his thigh. “Let’s stop talking about him, shall we?” The hand
travels up and Suga holds his breath, and then back down. Suga breathes.
Nakamura says, “I regret bringing him up.”
Soon. Stay calm, Koushi. There’s still time.
But he’s wrong. Nakamura doesn’t bring the car to a full stop when he turns off
onto a smaller road, one that goes up into the mountains. Suga never noticed
that they were already this far from the heart of town, having paid too much
attention to what was happening inside. How much it would hurt to jump out of a
moving car? There’s no streetlights out here and the last house must have been
more than a mile back. It’s a stretch, but… He thinks, maybe. Just maybe, I can
do this.
Shaking his head to physically dispel any fear, he quietly positions himself so
that he’ll be ready to jump. Unlock the door while letting go of the seatbelt,
open the door, and jump. If he falters on any of these steps, then it’s over. I
can’t go back in time and not get in this car. I’m here now, so I have to do
everything I can.
Three. He takes a deep breath.
Two. This is my only chance.
One.
Just as he’s pulling the lock up and letting go, he’s hauled back hard against
the seat, head snapping against the headrest. Nakamura’s hand clenches tightly
around the seatbelt strap, drawing it tightly along Suga’s neck.
“You’re braver than I thought,” Nakamura says appreciatively, tugging a little
bit harder, and braking quickly just to be cruel. “I was waiting for you to
make your move ever since you unbuckled your seatbelt, but to think that you
would try to escape while the car was moving? I underestimated you.”
“I…can’t…breathe.” Suga tries to pull this seatbelt away and give his windpipe
a reprieve.
“But I should have known. That first time you really tried to fight too.”
Nakamura clicks the seatbelt back into place with a knowing smirk, and Suga
bends over, catching his breath. “Always wear your seatbelt, Sugawara. It’ll
keep you safe.”
                                      ***
The drive up the mountain is long, made longer by the unbroken silence. When
the car finally rolls to a stop, the only thing discernable about their
location is that it’s a clearing wider than the road and there are a few picnic
tables along one of the edges. It’s dark out and the trees that box in the area
are tall and imposing, like a wall specifically built for this occasion.
Nakamura said that this was a place he used to come?
The heavy tension breaks when Nakamura turns fully to the teenager. His gaze is
sharp and lingering. The man pulls off his tie with one hand and leans toward
Suga, who backs into the furthest corner, seatbelt forgotten. He grabs for
Suga’s wrists but the boy promptly yanks them back, trying for the door. Teeth
gritted, Nakamura climbs halfway across the middle console. He force’s Suga out
of his coat like an angry child undressing an unwanted doll. He wastes no time
unbuttoning the boy’s dress shirt, pulling it apart and then focusing his
impatience on the T-shirt underneath. It’s all tossed to the floor. 
Suga smacks and scratches those rough hands at every turn, scared that if he
holds his own still for a second too long or raises them too high, they’ll be
bound. He’s panting trying to keep up, trying to keep Nakamura at bay, trying
to keep this man from touching him, but the bastard keeps on touching him. He
jabs an elbow into Nakamura’s stomach.
“Why must you fight so much?” Nakamura grinds out. Suga sees the swing and his
eyes go wide before he’s able to turn his head or raise his hands. The right
side of his face takes the brunt of the blow again. Tasting blood in his mouth,
he blinks his vision back into focus. It hurts so much he can barely think.
“Why must you be so difficult? It would go much more smoothly if you’d just do
as you’re told.”
Nakamura uses his tie to bind the boy’s wrists together tightly. No. Suga
shivers under his teacher’s unforgiving gaze. No. This is bad. They’re in the
middle of nowhere. There is absolutely no hope of anyone coming to rescue him
this time.
“Get in the back,” Nakamura commands.
“No,” Suga gasps.
After three failed attempts, Nakamura heaves Suga up and shoves him between the
seats. The car is too small. There are too many edges and objects to bump into.
Suga’s face hits and slides off of the backseat and onto the floor, his right
foot somehow tangled underneath his left. He kicks out but only hits the
dashboard. His still-healing nose throbs painfully. And then Nakamura grabs
ahold of his legs and hauls the rest of him into the back.
The fake leather seats are cold. He curses. This result was decided from the
time that car door first closed, wasn’t it? It was over then. No matter how
much struggling he’s done, his fate was already sealed. Right? But his mind is
like a pendulum, always swinging back and forth between hopelessness and
optimism. He can’t imagine getting out of this. But he also can’t seem to quite
give up. Every time he tries to, something inside him shouts, “no.”
Trying to reach for the door, he yells, “Stop! You pervert! Just stop!”
Nakamura crawls on top of him and holds him back. “Get your hands off me! Stop,
you bastard!”
“You’re going to regret making so much trouble,” Nakamura growls. He shoves
Suga’s face into the window, the boy releasing a loud yelp. “Oh. I forgot that
you broke your nose. Two weeks ago, was it? I bet it hurts.” He continues to
push until Suga is shouting appeasements.
“Please, just stop! Please. I’ll do whatever.”
“Tell me you want it.”
His stomach twists. “No!”
Nakamura chuckles and doesn’t let up.
“Ow! Okay, okay!” Suga croaks as he feels his nose rebreak and blood drip down
thickly. Mouth trembling, he tries to speak. All that comes out is little more
than a whisper. The teacher only prompts him to be louder. “I want it. I want
it! Okay. Let go!”
Nakamura’s hands go to Suga’s belt instead. There’s so many things I would do
differently if I could. Nakamura slides Suga’s pants and underwear down,
removing them completely past his legs and pulling the shoes from his feet too.
So many things. In the reflection of the dark window, he can just make out his
eye blinking back at him. That man runs his hands all over, finally settling on
Suga’s hips. I should have gone to practice today.
“Sugawara,” Nakamura-sensei breathes excitedly. “Say it again.”
“I want it,” he recites. I hate myself.
“Again, like you mean it.” Nakamura starts licking and biting his way up Suga’s
back.
Suga winces and tries, louder this time, “I want it.”
I hate myself. I hate myself.
Nakamura pushes a finger inside of the teen. “Say it,” Nakamura demands,
thrusting the finger. So Suga says it, repeats it over and over as the one
finger turns to two then three, as his teacher’s free hand slides down his pale
thigh. Each time he nearly chokes on the words. He promises himself that he
won’t cry, no matter how much it hurts.
I should have gone to practice, he thinks again. I should have accepted the
first years’ kindness. The sound of a zipper resounds in his ears. I should
have swallowed my pride and apologized to Daichi. The tip of Nakamura’s hard
cock presses against his entrance, the man taking his time to enter. It feels
like an eternity later that the man stops, fully inside.
Suga’s wrists hurt from trying to loosen the tie, so, futilely, he tries to
focus on that instead.
The teacher goes slower this time and with each thrust Suga can’t help but
scrunch his eyes tighter in pain, breathless. It hurts.  The friction hurts.
His face hits against the window each time. He deserves this pain. No crying,
he thinks, fingers pressed against his lips. With each thrust, the gray-haired
teen thinks, I hate myself, until that phrase is all that he clings to. As if
it will keep him sane.
Nakamura sinks his face into the boy’s neck, inhaling deeply through his nose
and mouthing at the skin there. His arms wrap around the setter’s torso
tightly, deep grunts reverberating through Suga’s bones. He’s done something
similar the first time. It must be a position he enjoys.
Suga hates it. He hates the weight of that man’s body laid out over him. He
despises every inch of skin that comes into contact with his teacher’s. And
Nakamura, with his disgusting embrace, feels like the worst fitting coat, feels
like a chafing sunburn, feels like a jammed seatbelt in a car that’s sinking
into the ocean. It feels like sweat and heat and barely blossoming bruises.
Calloused hands, fake leather, wrists tied too tightly, eager teeth, and
prickly stubble. It feels like the shape of the word “no” and the sharpness of
the chuckle that followed.
“So good. You’re so good,” Nakamura murmurs.
And then Nakamura’s length strikes a spot that makes Suga’s eyes to go wide and
sends a shiver ripple through him. He’s confused. That felt—
“You like it there?” Nakamura asks, face so close Suga feels the brute’s
eyelashes every time he blinks. Suga starts to shake his head but Nakamura aims
for that spot again, and this time the feeling is stronger, the heat gathering
in his crotch impossible to deny. Again and again, that man rams into his
prostate, and Suga finds himself growing harder with each thrust.
He lets out several whimpers that might actually be moans. Cursing his body for
betraying him, he closes his eyes again, eyelashes wet with the tears he
promised he wouldn’t shed. This is disgusting, he tells himself, but the
pleasure muddles the rest of his thoughts. As the pace quickens, Suga’s
overcome with the urge to touch himself. Nakamura’s saying something
unintelligible, and the next thing he knows the man is stroking him with that
calloused hand and it feels—
Clamping his mouth shut so no sound escapes, Suga’s body tenses right down to
his toes as his orgasm takes hold. Pleasure eclipses his everything for a
moment. And then he’s breathing through it and Nakamura’s hand is leaving his
sticky cock. Nakamura spills inside soon after, pulling out only after milking
himself dry. He sits back against the seat.
“Times like these, I wish I hadn’t quit smoking,” Nakamura-sensei mutters.
“Hey, Sugawara?”
Huddled into a ball, Suga’s mind starts processing what’s happening, the fact
that he came while being raped. The revulsion that he feels tastes bitter in
his throat. His body aches, and he knows he’s covered in bruises and bite
marks. His face feels puffy. His nose is throbbing. Dried blood masks the
bottom half of his face with the same discomfort that sweat clings to his back
and cum sticks to his stomach and thighs. He said he wouldn’t cry, he said he
wouldn’t cry, he said he wouldn’t cry.
It's…He’s…
Disgusting.
“Stop crying,” Nakamura sighs. Eyes leaking despite his promise, Suga glances
at Nakamura-sensei—at the man who’s so calm—and doesn’t understand at all.
Doesn’t he feel bad? Isn’t he disgusted too?
The setter pries his lips apart and says, “Stop breathing.”
Nakamura-sensei looks taken aback. “What?”
Suga holds his gaze unflinchingly, entire face in pain. “I wish you’d die.”
Turning, he yanks on the door handle and tumbles from the car onto the uneven
ground. He lands mostly on his left shoulder. Nakamura curses while Suga pulls
himself up to his elbows and drags himself away from the car, inch by inch. The
air immediately assails him with its biting cold teeth. His breath is even more
visible than earlier.
Sensei follows him slowly. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, voice
bemused.
The gray-haired boy tries his best to snort, still crawling at a snail’s pace.
“What do you care? Aren’t you done with me? Or do you want another go?”
Nakamura uses his shoe to stop Suga, to lift his chin so that he’s forced to
look up at the man. The expression on his face is completely foreign to Suga.
Once again, the teen is pushed to wonder if Nakamura feels bad at all. He swats
man’s shoe away after another thirty seconds of staring.
“What do you want to do?” Nakamura says then, breaking the silence. “I’ll take
you wherever you want to go.”
“I want you to leave me,” Suga says evenly. “I don’t want to see you. I don’t
want to hear you. I don’t want to spend another second with you.”
Getting into that car in the first place was pure insanity. The thought of
getting into that car again and riding all the way back to town with him is
even crazier. He’d rather be eaten by bears. He’d rather lose all his toes to
frostbite. He’d rather join a wolfpack and live here in the mountains, because
maybe then he’ll have sharpened his teeth enough to defend himself. He’d no
longer be powerless prey.
“How do you plan on getting home?”
Just fucking do this one thing for me. “I’ll make do, or maybe I won’t. Either
way, it’s not your problem.”
“Okay, Sugawara,” he says in a patronizing voice, moving to the front seat to
throw Suga’s bag out along with his shirts and coat. “Remember, you wanted
this.”
That’s the only thing I wanted. He lowers his head onto the dirt, lying on his
side and watching as Nakamura throws his bike onto the ground without a care.
He breathes heavily through his mouth. His teacher approaches him and crouches
down reaching out for his hands but Suga pulls them into his chest,
protectively.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” the teen says, shaking his head.
Nakamura all but rolls his eyes. His voice is exasperated when he asks, “You
don’t want to be untied?”
“Don’t touch me,” Suga repeats.
Suga watches him from the ground again—watches him stand and walk away, hears
the car door open and close. He squints against the bright red taillights and
finally breathes as the car drives away, kicking up dust and rocks. His
belongings are strewn throughout the dirt. The wind is relentless. The moon is
bright and uncaring in the sky. And Suga is now alone. He’s alone.
Without even thinking, Suga finds himself hunched over and forcing his fingers
down his throat. The effort of puking wracks his body, pushing against all the
sore places inside of him, and after he’s finished, he’s not sure he feels any
better. He’s so exhausted. His body is filthy. It’s cold. He just wants to go
home, but “home” seems like a foreign word and Suga’s not sure he’ll be able to
get there this time. He doesn’t feel particularly distressed by this thought.
There’s one thing, though, that he absolutely has to do and there’s no giving
up until he’s done it.
The pendulum swings between hopelessness and optimism. It gets stuck in the
middle, somewhere closer to “optimism.” Determination propelling him, he crawls
toward his school bag and fishes inside of it, retrieving his phone. Everything
hurts.
Suga dials the familiar number, lying on his back as it rings. The stars
stretch themselves out across the night sky above, dazzling and untouched and
emitting a different aura than the moon. Kinder. More forgiving. Sympathetic to
boys who regret getting into cars with older men—understanding of boys who’ve
made a habit of saying things they don’t mean.
“Mom. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“I need to miss practice today.”
“I don’t have those kinds of feelings for you.”
“I want it.”
He wonders whether they grant redemption for boys who come into the hands of
rapists.
Just when the setter begins to think that no one will answer, he hears a click
and his heart lurches.
“Daichi,” he whispers.
Chapter End Notes
     *coughs*
     -Next chapter was originally the one I was most looking forward to
     writing, but that's not necessarily the case anymore; we'll see where
     it goes
     *considers activating airplane mode to hide from inevitable scary
     comments*
***** Black Butterflies *****
Chapter Notes
     [hey, look, it's that person who hasn't updated in more than a month]
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Daichi paces his bedroom bumping a volleyball and contemplating the team’s
upcoming practice match against Nekoma. It’s in a week, so he shouldn’t have
ended practice early this evening. He reminds himself that he has an important
test to study for. That’s his only reason calling it quits prematurely. Suga
outright avoiding him ever since he confessed has nothing to do with it. Or so
Daichi tells himself.
I didn’t even really confess. I—Suga’s face flashes in his mind—the face he had
made when he’d said, “You think I’ve never noticed the way you look at me?”
That patronizing gleam in those eyes… The captain didn’t know that Suga held
the capacity to be that cruel. He hadn’t known how pain could twist a person’s
heart until they thought that wounding someone else would shield themselves in
future. Only halfway through their argument did Daichi realize the setter was
just trying to get under his skin.
Afterwards, whenever he’d think of apologizing again or at least suggesting
they end their argument, he’d remember the look on Suga’s face. Daichi’s ears
would glow red with embarrassment and he’d decide that he couldn’t face his
silver-haired friend just yet.
As frustrating and disappointing as it is, Suga just doesn’t like him, doesn’t
like guys. He’s always hoped that Suga would like him back, or at least be
accepting of his feelings. He’d fantasized about having someone to talk about
this with—this thing that’s eating him up inside. It feels like he’s been
holding his breath his entire life, like he can’t exhale without the fear of
disturbing someone, like there’s not enough room in this world for him to be
himself. Only when he’s on the court, in the middle of a game, body exhausted
and brain preoccupied, are his walls truly dismantled. Then he can breathe,
because then he’s not hiding from anyone or himself. It’s tiresome, trying to
be the good student, the good captain, the good son all of the time.
Maybe he’d been hoping for too much. After all, Suga’s bound to be wary after
what he’s gone through. So, he didn’t come to practice after he finished making
up his history test—because there’s no way that it would take so long. If it’s
his way of dealing…
What can Daichi say?
I know it makes you uncomfortable, but come to practice anyway. I know you have
other things on your mind, but come to practice anyway. I know you told me to
stay away and I know I gross you out, but goddamn it, come to practice.
I don’t want you to give up on the things you care about. I want you to still
love volleyball and watch the same stupid shows as before and worry over your
grades.
I want to know you’re okay. I want to see you. I want you beside me.
I don’t want to give you up. I want to be one of the things you care about.
Is liking Suga so wrong?
“You’re just trying to get into my pants!”
The ball goes flying off his arm randomly and knocks his desk lamp to the
floor, plunging the room into darkness. Wincing at the sound, Daichi crouches
to survey the damage. Shards of glass litter the floor, bulb broken, but lamp
itself is completely intact. With a new bulb, it should work just fine. No big
deal.
Everything’s been a big deal lately. Every good thing—every small smile and
conversation initiated—has been a mountain climbed. Every clenched fist and
wrong word spoken tantamount to a tsunami. Thinking back on the fight, was he
really in the wrong? If someone hurt Suga, why won’t he say who? That man
deserves to be punished tenfold for what he did.
Daichi’s thoughts are interrupted by two quick knocks and his door opening. His
mother folds her arms in the doorway, asking, “What are you doing in here?”
She’s a small woman with hair and eyes as black as tar, tired circles hugging
those dark orbs more often than not, and nails clipped shorter than her
fingertips. A few years ago, she started working a second job, saying she had
too much extra time on her hands now that her son had entered high school. So,
now she goes from her early morning job at a local bakery to working at her
brother’s restaurant in the afternoons.
During his first year, Daichi offered to get a job instead, but she waved him
off, telling him to focus on his schoolwork and club. He offered a few more
times, but his mother was always adamant about enjoying the work. Knowing it
was selfish, he was relieved, having honestly hated working at his uncle’s
restaurant during past summers despite the money it got him. Daichi shakes his
head at her current question and discerning gaze.
“Sorry,” he says, tossing the last pieces of glass into the trashcan. Maybe he
should vacuum too, just to be safe. “I just broke a bulb.”
“Daichi, try to be a little quieter. Your father has to be up early to catch a
flight, remember?” His mother glances around his dim room and catches sight of
his untouched school bag. She frowns and switches on the overhead light. “Have
you finished your homework?”
Daichi sighs and places his volleyball carefully on the floor beside his bed.
“Not yet. I’m doing it now.”
“Make sure you do,” she says before leaving.
Ignoring his backpack, Daichi throws himself onto his bed and groans into his
mattress, brain immediately looping back to his previous thoughts. Suga’s not
that lamp—the broken pieces can’t be replaced with identical parts. He’s not
broken. Saying that he’s broken is saying that someone broke him and to Daichi
it still seems wrong to acknowledge that power of some vile, cowardly bastard.
Stupid. Evil. Coward. Why would someone do something like that? To Suga? It
doesn’t make any sense. How could someone…?
His chest feels tight. He loves Suga so much. It pains Daichi to see him hurt
and unable to help. After last weekend, he had thought that things were going
to get better. Then, Monday, when the captain had come across Suga shaking and
muttering to himself, an icy fear gripped him. To see Suga losing it like that
caused his mind to go blank and he acted on impulse, reaching out to comfort
his friend.
But then Suga hit him and turned down any words of comfort and eventually said:
“You’re just trying to get into my pants!”
He had been initially shocked at those words and then so flustered that he
couldn’t even coherently respond. Everything Suga continued to say felt like
punch after punch and Daichi couldn’t gather his bearings. It was surreal,
trying to defend himself to someone whom he never thought he’d have to and
having Suga look at him like he enjoyed seeing Daichi scrambling to keep up.
And to be accused of something as horrible as trying to take advantage of his
best friend’s rape?
What the hell?
How could Suga compare Daichi to that scum—a rapist? Even if he didn’t
completely mean it … Suga never even mentioned knowing about Daichi’s feelings.
God, what am I thinking? How messed up do I have to be to make this all about
me when my best friend was raped? Karasuno’s captain stands from his bed
suddenly feeling sick. He runs his hands across his face. He shouldn’t have let
Suga’s words get to him. He needs to forget about his feelings for a
second—he’s been putting off confessing for over a year, what’s a little
longer? Suga’s hurting and needs to come first right now, and if that means
apologizing when he doesn’t think he’s entirely wrong, then so be it. First
thing tomorrow he’s going to go over to the Sugawara residence and apologizing
to his friend. A brief calm to descends upon him.
That peace is revoked when his phone rings and Suga’s name appears on the
screen. Daichi hesitates, and then berates himself for hesitating because
hadn’t he just decided to talk to his friend? Now you’re nervous?After doing
nothing but fight this week, he can only imagine what Suga has to say to him
now. He stares at Suga’s name and face on the screen. Walking the length of his
room, Daichi steels himself and answers.
That one moment of static-tinged silence exploits the hope nestled in the
corners of his heart—the hope for everything to be all right and a future
filled with more real smiles than fake ones. And then Suga speaks:
“Daichi.”
Suga didn’t call to argue. That’s immediately evident. What’s more, even though
his voice is barely more than a whisper, there’s something off about it.  
“Daichi, are you there?”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “I’m here.”
“I know you must not want to talk to me.”
“That’s not true,” Daichi bursts in. He doesn’t know why it’s easier on the
phone but he manages to say what he hasn’t been able to this past week. “That’s
not true, Suga. I want to talk. So, don’t worry about that.”
There’s a pause in which he can only hear the vice-captain’s breathing.
Suga sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything I said and for
hitting you. I feel so bad and I’m sorry. I was so caught up in my own head
that I didn’t think to apologize sooner.”
Leaning against his desk and closing his eyes, he lets the words sink in. So
straightforward. Why has it been so difficult for Daichi to find the courage to
utter those same words? He’d been too caught up in his own head too. Wanting to
mend this relationship as best he can, how can he say anything other than,
“It’s okay now. And I’m sorry for how I acted too. I was way too pushy. I’ve
been meaning to apologize for a while, but…”
“You don’t have to apologize. I said some really messed up things that I didn’t
mean.”
He figured this and yet a part of him still feared that perhaps his friend had
meant it all. Those words that Suga wielded like swords cut deep into places
Daichi had already scratched red and raw himself. “You’ve never had sex with a
guy, have you?... To be honest, I find the idea of being with a guy gross… How
do you even know you’ll like it?” Being a guy who likes guys—it’s always been
something of an insecurity. It’s abnormal. It’s wrong. It’s gross.He’s had
those exact thoughts before. He’s heard those thoughts expressed from the
mouths of family members.
It was always a struggle, until he met Suga, and those vague feelings of “like”
coalesced into one, definitive warmth. Things started to make sense to him, and
Daichi started accepting himself because there was no way that liking Suga
could ever be gross or wrong.
But when did this all become so painful again? He would never hurt Suga like
that bastard. Daichi just needs to ensure that his friend knows this, so he
asks plainly, “You know that I would never hurt you, right?”
Suga’s voice breaks: “Of course. Of course I know.”
“You made it sound like you thought I was like him, like that monster.” Suga
doesn’t speak for a full minute, making Daichi worry. He doesn’t want to make
Suga cry again. “Suga?”
“You’re nothing like him,” he finally says. Suga releases a sound that might be
a laugh or a snort and his voice fades back into a whisper. “It’s like I said.
You’re nothing like him. You would never…”
One half of the captain’s brain is dying to ask, who is ‘he’? Who is it? Who is
it, Suga? Who hurt you?But judging how that line of questioning has gone in the
past, Daichi decides to voice his other concern. “You sound sick. Are you
coming down with a cold?”
“Uh,” Suga responds. “My nose just kind of hurts right now. But there was
something else I wanted to say.”
“Yeah?”
“Um.” He sounds like he’s struggling to find the right words. “I want to
preface this with again saying that most everything I said that day was a lie…”
“I know. I know you didn’t mean half of it. I just don’t know why you think you
need to lie about how you feel,” Daichi says, pausing for breath while Suga
coughs as if in preparation to speak. He doesn’t, so Daichi continues, “If you
don’t feel well, whether physically or mentally, then you should tell someone.
We’re all just worried about you, you know?”
“Well, Daichi, that’s—Uh, the thing I really meant was—it was more about—”
“You can say anything, Suga, for real this time,” Daichi says. “I’m mentally
prepared, so go for it.”
“I lied before,”Suga repeats. He takes in a deep breath.“I-I think I like you,
Daichi.”
He almost chokes on his own spit.
“P-pardon?” He’s not really comprehending and he’s too scared to let himself
hope that he’s hearing Suga correctly. It must be a misunderstanding. He must
be hearing what he wants to hear, because there’s no way that the silver-haired
boy likes him back. There’s no way, so Suga must mean as a friend, right?
“I like you,”the setter says, tone matter-of-fact.“I mean, I shouldn’t have
said any of that insensitive stuff, but I was scared and wanted to keep you at
a distance, I think.”
“Scared?” Daichi finds himself unable to speak in full sentences. He’s still
thinking, there’s no way.
“Not of you,”Suga rushes to say.“Of myself. Of what it means that I can like a
guy, or like anyone, in that way after what happened.”
Processing this, Daichi’s free hand clenches into a fist. Scared of himself?
Scared of his feelings? He gets it, even if it’s for nowhere near the same
reasons. Except, for the captain, Suga is what brought him clarity, while for
Suga, Daichi must be the confusing thing.
“Suga,” Daichi says just because he wants to say the boy’s name. He doesn’t
know where to continue from there.
“I didn’t want to admit it. I wanted to push all those thoughts and feelings
away and in the process, I hurt you… and I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re gross
or anything like that.”Suga’s voice becomes more thin and the pauses become
more frequent as he continues speaking, trying to mask his tiredness. “I
actually think… you’re pretty amazing… And I like you.”
Even though this is what he’s been wanting for so long—to hear Suga say those
words—he’s gripped by a nagging feeling telling him that something is off.
Suga, do you really mean it? For example, why now? What catalyzed this
confession?
Daichi asks, “You’re not just saying this because you feel bad about the
fight?”
“Feel bad?” A long pause ensues. “Are you saying you like me because you feel
bad about what happened to me?”
“What? No. I’ve liked you way before that and I will like you way beyond that.”
Daichi’s surprised by the laugh that comes through the phone.
Suga says, earnestly, “Then you know exactly how I feel.”
“Wow,” Daichi replies. He’s afraid he’ll lose the ability to speak in complete
sentences again, so he just says, “Suga, how are you? We haven’t talked really
since Sunday.”
This feeling. He doesn’t know how to describe this feeling. Like he’s floating.
Like this is all a dream and everything physical, like his desk he’s still
leaning against and the floor he’s standing on, aren’t quite there. None of
that matters anyways. Because Suga likes him back. He’s sort of embarrassed to
smile so wide alone in his bedroom, and with so many heavy things going on. Is
that bad? Damn, he sort of wants to laugh too.I should have said something a
long time ago. Suga… Suga doesn’t hate him. Suga doesn’t find him gross. Suga
likes him?
“Suga?”
He doesn’t answer. Straining to hear anything, a chuckle or sigh or even
sniffle, Daichi can’t help but hold his breath but it sounds as if the setter
is doing the same. “Hey,” Daichi starts, but breaks off when he hears a gust of
wind crackle through the speaker. Wind like that? That was really loud.Daichi
reflexively glances to his window, eyes locking on the branches swaying in the
breeze. “Hey, Suga, are you outside right now?”
The vice-captain hums an unsure response. “Well,” he mumbles. “Well, uh, yes.”
Daichi’s heart drops. “Where are you?”
Silence.
“Suga, where are you right now? Are you okay?”
Silence.
“Suga!”
“I can’t tell you.”
He knew something wasn’t right. He knew it! Yet he pushed his worries to the
back of his mind and let them be completely eclipsed by Suga’s good news. Suga
has to be okay—he needs him to be okay. The setter, so talkative a minute ago,
has gone quiet, back to being evasive. Digging up all the calm he has on
reserve, Daichi asks, “Why not?”
The silver-haired teen sucks in a breath, holds it for a beat, and whispers,
“Because I don’t know where I am.”
Does Suga think that if he says it quietly, Daichi will be any less worried?
“What do you mean by that? What happened? Are you hurt?” Daichi’s voice climbs
toward hysteria with each word spoken, yet Daichi feels himself falling.  No,
is the first thing he thinks. No, he has to be okay. It must all be a
misunderstanding, but Suga’s not answering and what the hell is going on?
You said you would be there for him and you weren’t.
You weren’t there.
Because you were too embarrassed to approach him.
You promised you would protect him.
If he’s hurt, you’re to blame.
Suga says, “I don’t know where I am exactly. I’m somewhere on the mountain.”
If Daichi thought he couldn’t become any more worried, he was wrong. He stands
up straight, body suddenly strung tight. He doesn’t know where to begin. What
the hell is he doing on the mountain? Why wasn’t that the first thing Suga
said? Was he planning on not saying anything at all, or was he waiting to see
if Daichi was still mad? The dark-haired boy tries to make sense of it on his
own but it just doesn’t.
“What happened?” I said I was going to be there and I wasn’t. I said I wouldn’t
let anything else happen to you and I failed. Did I even try? “Suga?” he almost
shouts when he gets no response.
“Just—he took me up here, but it’s dark and I can’t really tell—”
Daichi grabs for his coat and shoes. “Suga, I’m on my way.”
He has to go to Suga. Alone, probably hurt, cold—Suga needs help but refuses to
ask for it. Maybe Suga thinks he’s burdening Daichi, but knowing that his
friend is out there and hurt is what really bothers him. He knows it’s too
late. He knows he’s too late to swoop in and save Suga like a knight in shining
armor the way it always happens in the movies. Daichi curses himself as he
pulls on his jacket and crosses the living room.
He foolishly made a promise he couldn’t keep. He didn’t know anything. He
didn’t know who he was supposed to be protecting Suga from, or what times he
should be most vigilant, or anything, yet he actually did think he could do it.
Naïve. Arrogant. And he thought that everything between himself and Suga would
work itself out naturally. He can’t believe how wrong and stupid he’s been.
Regret slithers around his windpipe, threatening to suffocate him.
The setter splutters, “I-I told you, I don’t know where—”
“I’ll find you.” Damn it, I’ll find you if it’s the last thing I do. I can’t
break this promise. I can’t break this promise.
This one, this time, I’ll see it through.
“Daichi!” his mother yells, running out on the front porch to call to her son
who’s already taken to the street. “Where are you going at this hour! Get back
inside this instant!” She’s silhouetted by the light from inside, so when
Daichi glances back to call out a hasty apology, he can’t see her face
properly.
The captain runs. He runs, half hopping as he attempts to put on his right
shoe, pavement cold under the sole of his other foot. “I’m coming for you,” he
tells a protesting Suga. The streets are quiet and empty, making it feel like a
dreamscape, like maybe this is all in his head and he’ll wake up any second.
Still, the moonlight seems menacing in the way that it wraps around his body.
Cold.
“I’m sorry, Daichi,” Suga says.
“Call the police,” Daichi responds. “Hang up with me and call the police.”
“What? No, no. No.”
“If you’re hurt you need to call the police.”
“Daichi, please don’t hang up,” Suga says. “I don’t want a bunch of strangers
seeing me like this. And I’m a minor, so they’ll call my parents and I don’t
know how to look at them, you know. Besides, I barely get any signal out here.
I’m surprised this call went through. I don’t know what will happen if I hang
up and try to make another call, or even if I move from this spot.”
“What?” Daichi says, trying to take in all of Suga’s excuses. “If that’s the
case, then this call could drop any moment. You should take the chance. And
don’t worry about what your parents will think. I can’t imagine them reacting
badly.”
“What am I supposed to say to the police? ‘I got in a car with a rapist and he
raped me.’ I can only imagine how they’d react. ‘Wow, how stupid can this kid
be? Somebody that stupid deserved what he got.’ And I’m a guy at that! They
probably won’t even believe me.”
“Suga,” Daichi pleads, trying to keep his voice from cracking and scrunching
his eyes against the confirmation of the fact he had known since the silver-
haired boy had said, ‘He took me up here.’ He can’t tell whether Suga is more
afraid of someone believing or not believing him. Still, going to the
authorities has to be the best option, right? So, he says again, “Please, call
them.”
“You don’t have to do this.” Suga pauses, his voice sounding whispery thin and
tired again. “You’re my best friend. And I know you like me. I know you care.
So, you don’t have anything to prove. No one will think any less of you if you
just stay home.”
“How could you say that? How—”
Suga interrupts him. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
Under any other circumstance, those words would have caused an ecstatic blush,
but right now they sound like he’s giving up. Part of Daichi wants to retract
his statements, because what if by granting Suga this comfort he’s given
permission for Suga to let go? Does Suga want to let go? If he’s still
searching will he want to hold on more? Daichi slows to a trot in front of
Asahi’s house.
“Don’t give up yet, Suga. I’m not, so you better not.” He climbs the stairs to
the front door panting. Banging on the door, arm growing stiff from holding his
cell phone, he leans against the wall and tries to catch his breath. Karasuno’s
ace answers the door looking stricken, an expression that quickly morphs into
indignation when he notices Daichi there.
“Why are you knocking like that? It’s kind of late for—”
“We need you and your car,” Daichi cuts in quickly, straightening and wiping
the blossoming beads of sweat from his forehead.
“What?” Asahi asks, bewildered. “What’s going on?”
“You went to Asahi’s?”
“Suga’s in trouble,” Daichi says. “We have to hurry.”
He waits on the porch, swallowing the worst of his worry as Asahi grasps the
severity of situation and rushes inside with a stressed look. Daichi isn’t sure
what Asahi saw painted across his face, but it’s enough to have the ace back
outside in under two minutes, and then both teens are flying down the front
stairs and toward the car.
“Your shoes are on the wrong feet,” Asahi mentions in an off-hand way as they
both slide into their seats and buckle their seatbelts. Daichi glances but
doesn’t bother to move to correct it.
“Can we let Asahi know?” Daichi poses to Suga. He’s not sure how the setter
will react to this suggestion. They can’t leave Asahi completely in the dark
though, after this favor, and especially if Suga is hurt. Asahi will want to
know because he cares too.
“Where are we headed?” Asahi follows up with his own question.
“Yes.”
“North. The mountain.” Then, to Suga: “What condition are we going to find you
in?”
Suga chokes on a sob that plunges into Daichi’s chest like a dagger. “It’s
really bad. Daichi, you don’t have to…do this for me.”
Asahi throws an alarmed glance toward the passenger seat. Breathe, Daichi. You
can’t waver now when he needs you. Talk of who likes whom seems meaningless now
as they speed down the road leading out of town, houses whipping by outside the
window. My words mean nothing if I can’t even do this. Fuck ‘good intentions’
right now; I’m going to get results. There isn’t an alternative.
“What’s happening, Daichi?” Asahi asks, fingers curled tightly around the
steering wheel. The captain hesitates until Suga says, “I’m sorry; I can tell
him if you want.” He coughs lightly.
“Suga’s hurt,” he says, staring at the dashboard and feeling the weight of
everything Suga’s told him this evening and that evening last Friday. “He-he
was raped.”
“What?” The car jerks but the third year immediately corrects it. He turns his
head completely toward Daichi, eyes wide and horrified and boring into the
captain’s raised gaze, searching for the truth. His gaze screams, tell me it’s
not true. Daichi can only return a small nod, feeling his heart beat against
his eardrums and his stomach twist nervously.
“I didn’t hear a shout of disgust. I think Asahi’s taking it well.”Sarcasm
laces Suga’s voice. It’s a front though, and the relief hidden beneath is
noticeable.
He goes along with his silver-haired friend, saying, “That’s because you can’t
see him.”
“You can tell him whatever you think he needs to know.”
“How did this happen?” Asahi asks, talking more to himself than the other two,
gripping and regripping the steering wheel. “Who would do something like that?
Is Suga okay? Oh, god. What—”
“Watch where you’re driving, please,” Daichi warns as the car starts to drift
over the middle line. “And it’s going to be okay, because we’re going to get
there and help him. All right?”
“How can you be so sure?”
Daichi’s eyes narrow. “Don’t start with me, Suga.” He pauses and sighs. Not
wanting another fight, especially at a time like this, he reigns in his teeming
emotions and tries for logic. “I have help this time, so we’ll make it there.
Just, do you remember anything about how you go there? Like how long it took or
what direction you were driven?”
“I know it was the first turn off outside of town, but other than that, I don’t
know. I—” Suga stops midsentence. A gust of wind whips through the phone loudly
and Daichi winces. “I wasn’t really paying attention. I’m sorry.”
Switching his phone to the other hand, Daichi relays the information to Asahi
and then says, “Suga?”
“Hmm?”
“Stop apologizing.” He lays his head against the passenger’s window. “None of
this is your fault.”
Suga only breathes for a minute, maybe two, and the other teen waits, quiet
also. The boy on the mountain sighs heavily, which only devolves into a
coughing fit and then turns into a few feeble chuckles. “You don’t know what
happened,”he says finally. His breathing is unsteady as he says this.“I think
it is kind of my fault. I shouldn’t have let him get into my head. I basically
let him put me in his car.”
Again. Daichi can’t believe this is happening again. And this time Suga was
being raped while the rest of them were happily at practice like everything was
normal. Is that what happened the first time? To think that someone could go
through so much suffering alone and the world just spins on without a care. And
now?
He still doesn’t know what to do.
When they finally make the first turn Suga mentioned, he feels a wave of
relief, as if passing a benchmark in a game. They’re one step closer even
though the hardest part is ahead of them. We’re going to find him. He’s
resolved himself to search all night if he must.
“You were scared, weren’t you? He’s scary, right?” Daichi says. He wishes Suga
would just believe him when he tells him that it’s not his fault. “It’s not
like you wanted this to happen.”
A pregnant silence is followed by the sound of muffled crying. The sobs are
spaced out and deep, interrupted occasionally but a cough or a groan. It takes
Daichi off guard. This isn’t what I wanted. This—I said I wasn’t going to make
him cry again. Guilt weighs the captain down in his seat as he tries to make
comforting noises to calm the vice-captain. Suga crying like this when they’re
separated by miles and miles of mountain—knowing that there’s nothing Daichi
can do to help him but offer up warm words—is the worst.
“Is he crying?” Asahi whispers, glancing at the phone in Daichi’s hand.
He nods, at a loss.
Asahi nods back and steps on the gas pedal.
Chapter End Notes
     -so, I blinked and February was over, anybody else?
     -I had to name this chapter after The Maine's new song because I've
     been listening to it nonstop today and it makes me think of my
     version of Daichi
     -so yeah, chapter nine happened, finally
***** Left *****
Chapter Notes
     -remember those "random" headcanons in chapt 6? Well, one of them was
     born out of the need to make a certain scene in this chapter not seem
     like a bullshit plot contrivance (fun fact), though it probably still
     does...
See the end of the chapter for more notes
“The area’s a clearing,”Suga says through sniffles. “There’s picnic tables
around. I can’t see much else.”
“A clearing, picnic tables…” Daichi repeats, looking to Asahi hopefully, but
the tall ace just shakes his head lost in thought.
“There are plenty of places like that,” Asahi muses. Both spikers used to go
camping and fishing with their families here, so both are relatively familiar
with the mountain. Asahi’s slightly more knowledgeable about the roads and
campsites because it’s been at least six years since Daichi has been up here.
“Is there anything else?”
“I’m putting you on speaker,” Daichi responds, placing his phone in a cup
holder between Asahi and himself. “Maybe there’s a sign or something.”
“I don’t know. I’ll see. Just hang on a minute,” Suga says. There’s a sound
like something being dragged along the ground, which scares the spiker until he
realizes that it’s Suga himself, that he must be crawling. His breathing turns
labored after only a minute and Daichi can’t help but want to step in.
“Don’t strain yourself,” he says. “It’s okay if you can’t find anything.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Asahi adds.
“It’s fine guys. I can at least…do this.” Suga keeps moving, and even after
crying out several times, he doesn’t stop. The pain doesn’t deter him. “I don’t
trust myself on my feet right now. It’s a long way to the ground if I trip on
something or get dizzy or anything like that. That’s why,”Suga grinds out, half
talking to himself, “it has to be like this.”
“You sound like you’re in pain.” Daichi just wants him to stop, wants
everything to stop. He wants time to halt so that they can get there before
Suga gets more injured. He wants to finally put to rest this fear in his own
heart. Yet, he knows this situation is not a song to pause. It’s not a
difficult level to be tried again after ‘game over.’ Daichi shudders and tries
not to let himself truly think about what a ‘game over’ situation would look
like in real life.
Despite his efforts, he can’t stop imagining the worst things. Images of the
silver-haired teen crying and scared. Being hit. Being stripped. Hands on the
setter’s body, and—damn it, Daichi doesn’t want this in his head. Why does he
have to imagine this right now, when he’s talking to Suga?
“It sounds worse than it is,” Suga says. His voice then takes on a different
quality, one closer to awe. It’s rushed and muddled with hope. “There’s a lake.
I see a lake. It’s dark but I can see the bank below me and the way the stars
and moon reflect in the water.”
Asahi glances at the phone and then quickly back to the road, brow furrowing
minutely. He says, evenly, “There are two large ponds on this mountain. It
would make sense that there would be picnic tables and an open are for cars to
park.”
“That’s good right?”Suga jumps in.“It narrows down where I can be.”
Yes,is the answer he’s looking for. Great, problem solved, we know where you
are. But Asahi remains quiet, Daichi falls into a memory from when he was
twelve. It comes to him in flashes. He sat in the backseat staring down at his
knees. It was still dark, not even dawn, but already too warm and stuffy.
‘You have to make a decision.’
He internally scoffed, but didn’t dare show his displeasure on his face.I don’t
care, he wanted to shout. I don’t care. I never wanted to come here in the
first place. This has been your idea from the start. I’d rather be sleeping.
I’d rather be doing anything else. I’d rather not—‘Daichi, are you listening?
You’d better not be ignoring your father.’
Daichi sat up straighter to look at the back of his dad’s head, fishing poles
clanking together in his grasp. The box of bait was on the floor between his
shoes. He kept his mouth sealed tightly. His father would always turn the
littlest, most inconsequential things into a lecture.
‘It’s not that hard. You have about one minute. Left or right?’
Coming back to the present and suddenly remembering, Daichi asks, “Doesn’t the
road fork up here? Aren’t the ponds on opposite sides of the mountain?”
Asahi’s expression doesn’t slip as he nods, and Daichi realizes that he must
have known this from the moment Suga said “lake.” He knew they were going to
have to decide which area to search first. Miles lie between the two ponds, if
Daichi remembers correctly, so if they head in the wrong direction, righting
their mistake would take a while.
“Oh,” Suga murmurs, realizing too. “And you guys don’t know what side of the
pond I’m on.”
“If we can figure out which pond first, then it won’t be difficult,” Daichi
assures. We only have a few minutes until we have to decide. Thinking back to
the memory, it was the last time he’d been up here. My father never brought me
again because of what I did.Trying to hold onto some semblance of optimism for
his uncharacteristically quiet friends, he fills the silence. “We’re already
closer than we were ten minutes ago. You guys shouldn’t feel so dejected when
we’ve already made this much progress.”
However, in less than five minutes, they reach the fork in the road and Asahi
brings the car to a stop, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel. Both paths
look the same, pavement giving way to dirt and gravel, trees sweeping in to
line the edges and shade the road more completely. The captain turns to look at
Asahi, really look at him for the first time this evening, and can see by the
soft glow of the interior lights just how scared he looks. His eyebrows are
knitted together with stress, eyes muddled with worry and fear. Sweat drips
down his forehead.
“Let’s go right,” Daichi says quietly, ignoring the dryness of his mouth.
“But what if that’s the wrong way?” Asahi bursts after a moment’s hesitation,
voicing all of their fears. “What if we waste all that time searching there
when he’s really on the other side of the mountain?”
“We can’t stay here,” Daichi says. ‘You have to make a decision.’ He gains more
momentum in his voice, believing the taste of his own bravado. He was scared
about this choice too, and was thinking the same thing, so he knows where
Asahi’s coming from, but they can’t stop now. “There’s a fifty-fifty chance
that we’ll get it right. We could be on our way to Suga right now.”
“Or we could be driving further away from him! And wasting gas that we really
can’t afford to lose.” He points to the gas gauge which lies flush with the
quarter tank mark. That’d be a terrible scenario. Stranded themselves, they’d
have no choice but to call their parents and then nothing will be contained—not
to mention how long it would delay their search. It’d be bad, but..
But—
“We have to take that chance! We won’t accomplish anything by waiting here. We
can’t accomplish anything by standing still!” the captain declares
passionately. “We’re not stopping! I’m not giving up now!”
The ace, cowed by Daichi’s words, shifts the car into first gear. He murmurs,
“We don’t really have a choice, do we?”
They drive to the right, gradually picking up speed, no response needed. They
have to keep moving.
He had said ‘left’ that day with his father. They had taken the road up to the
pond to fish at their usual spot. He yawned. Positioned at the edge of the
pond, Daichi and his father cast their lines into the water. He yawned.
They made sleepy conversation, the boy dancing back and forth on tired legs and
cursing everything. After an hour passed, they had almost nothing to show for
it and Daichi’s patience had grown thinner while his father had grown more
vocal. He just remembered that his dad kept picking at him. About his grades
and his friends—and why did he want to play volleyball of all sports, and why
wasn’t he helping out more at his uncle’s restaurant? No small moment or
insecurity was safe, and at the time Daichi remembered feeling like there was
nothing worse than these weekend outings with his father.
‘If you don’t want to give your all in school then you need to work hard. I
won’t have a son that’s stupid and lazy.’
I want to be anywhere else.But he had no escape.
‘The way you’re going, no girl will look your way. Do you want to end up
alone?’
Like, who cares? Who cares about any of that? Because I don’t fucking care.
Just shut up!
Except he said all of that out loud and threw his fishing pole to the ground,
breaking a piece off of it. Just when he realized that he probably shouldn’t
have said what he did, he felt the sting of his father’s palm against his
cheek, and his head turned with the slap and water rising to his eyes.
‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that again,’ his father growled. ‘You hear me,
Daichi?’
“Daichi?” Asahi laughs nervously. “So, you were making that face a minute ago.”
“What face?” It was a fifty-fifty chance, but the only reason I chose ‘right’
was because I didn’t want to go back to our old fishing spot. To think two
years’ worth of Sunday mornings were spent there.
“Your ‘I’m the captain and I’m super pissed that you’re not doing what I tell
you’ face. It’s terrifying.”
“I’m sorry,” Daichi replies. “For asking you to do this and pulling you into
all this with barely any explanation.” They exchange a look of understanding,
and then he leans forward a little, shaking off the memory. “Suga, how are you
doing?”
No response.
“Suga?” Asahi asks, alarmed.
Listening closely, Daichi is sure he can hear Suga’s breathing. Did the setter
fall asleep? He doesn’t know exactly how badly Suga is hurt, but his friend had
said it was pretty bad so doesn’t that mean that it’s bad to fall asleep? Or is
that only for a concussion? What if he does have a concussion? Daichi calls
Suga’s name again.
“I’m okay,” comes the boy’s quiet voice from the other side.
“You scared us,” Asahi sighs.
The trees that grew so close to the road disperse as they drive on. It hasn’t
been long, and yet, he’s already sick of the miles of terrain that separates
them. Before the spikers run out of fuel and before it gets any colder, they
have to find Suga.
“Sorry,” Suga says, breathless. It seems to be getting more difficult to talk,
yet despite that, he still tries to laugh it off. “I was looking up at the
stars and dozed off.”
Daichi sighs. “Don’t fall asleep on us. Whatever you do, try to stay awake.
I’m—”
“That’s it!” Asahi suddenly bursts. “Suga, you said you were watching the
stars? You can see the sky clearly from where you are?”
“Yes, I have a better view where I am now.” Then Suga asks, hesitantly, “What
do you have in mind?”
“People used to navigate by stars all the time,” Asahi responds.
Daichi’s jaw drops. Navigate by stars? Do people even do that anymore? Suddenly
a couple of teenagers in a car just turned into seventeenth century ship
captains. Daichi peers past the glare of his window and out into the sky that’s
with the sparkling orbs, like jewelry. Can they really find Suga like that?
“Asahi, you really surprise me sometimes.”
“I agree,” Daichi says, punching his friend on the arm. We can do this.
“I’ll need your help though, both of you. We don’t have any fancy instruments,
so we’ll have to make do. Daichi, you should find paper and a pen in the glove
compartment.” Asahi takes a breath. “Suga, can you sit with the pond to your
left?”
There’s shuffling on both ends. Daichi says, “Got it” right before Suga replies
with, “Okay.”
“So, Daichi, draw Suga at the center of the page and mark the pond on his
left.”
Daichi focuses on the paper in his hand, trying to draw straight while the car
bumps along through potholes and rocks. Several times, the pen pokes through
the paper, and Daichi curses under his breath, but it doesn’t stop his heart
from racing with the anticipation of having an actual plan to follow. If only
they had thought of this sooner.
“Remember the planetarium show, Suga?” Asahi asks. “If not, I can describe
everything to you. But, let’s start with the moon because it’s the easiest.
Where is it compared to you? On your left, right, in front of you, or behind?
And how close does it seem?”
“Left. And in front I guess.”Suga takes his time to continue.“I think it’s sort
of close? Closer than farther, if that makes sense.”
“Got that?”
Daichi nods and says, “Yeah,” scanning the sky through the front windshield
this time.
“The road curves back and forth so much, Daichi, it’s impossible to tell just
yet,” Asahi informs him calmly, reading his mind. “We haven’t gone far enough.
Each pond is on a different side of the mountain, so once we get a little
closer and we map a few more things, we’ll be able to see how things match up.”
“Okay, Suga. How about Polaris, the North Star? It will be the brightest in the
sky.”
The ace goes on to name and describe constellations, Suga describes their
locations when he can, and Daichi transcribes that to the map. Orion’s Belt?
Ursa Minor, The Little Bear? Yeah, I know it doesn’t really look like a bear.
All the while Asahi glances between the map and the sky outside, driving the
fastest he can on the straight stretches, only slowing on the turns. During the
pauses when he’s not scribbling down Suga’s answers, he glances at the long-
haired spiker in admiration. When had Asahi gotten so damn dependable?
The temperature in the car seems to rise as the minutes rush by and the piece
of paper gets more cluttered. The captain grows more and more antsy, but tries
keep up a collected exterior.
When Asahi slams on the breaks, sending Daichi flying against the seatbelt, he
grabs the homemade map, rolls down his window, and sticks his entire upper body
out. His head flicks back and forth between the paper in his hand and the
glittering canvas above so quickly it looks as if his neck will snap off.
Daichi’s heart thuds loudly against his ear drums, while Suga asks, “What is
it?”
“It’s not this one,” Asahi murmurs, falling back into his seat and preparing to
execute a U-turn on this narrow road. Eyes wide, he says, with more urgency.
“It’s not this one. It’s the other one.”
“Really? How sure are you?”
“Pretty sure,” Asahi replies.
The captain stares at Asahi incredulously. “Pretty sure? It’s right there. We
can’t turn back if we’re not entirely sure that Suga’s not up there. Do you
know how long it will take to come back if we’re wrong?”
“He’s not there. It terrifies me too, being wrong. But didn’t you say earlier
that we have to make a choice, take a chance?” Asahi asks, halfway through the
turn. “That was a blind choice we made, but now the stars are telling me—my gut
is telling me—that he’s not here. True, I’m not one hundred percent sure,
there’s room for error, but… Please trust me, Daichi, Suga.”
“I trust you,” Suga whispers. Daichi blinks and then nods.
Their ace is asking them to trust him, and how many times have they relied on
him, as their final line of defense, as their last hope? And now, with that
familiar determination burning in his eyes, how can they not? Asahi presses his
palm against the horn and holds it there for five seconds. The sound is loud
and resounds in the captain’s ears even after Asahi’s hand has lifted away.
“Did you hear anything on your end, Suga?”
“Ha,” Suga says. “No. Only silence here. Ha ha ha.”
Asahi turns to Daichi, looking alarmed at the sound of Suga’s slurred words and
breathy laughter, so feeble and out of place. He’s pretty sure that his own
expression mirrors Asahi’s, so he nods again—because that seems about all the
communication they need between them right now—and Asahi takes off fast,
traveling back down the road like a rollercoaster.
“We’re on our way, Suga.”
Suga’s sniffling grows louder. “Thank you so much. I never thought… Everything
you’ve done… I don’t deserve it.”
“Of course you do,” Asahi replies immediately. “You’ve always been there when
any of us had troubles. You always lent your ear and your time.”
The setter just breathes. They all just breathe for a moment. Then, out of the
blue, Asahi declares that he’s going to call an ambulance and to Daichi’s
surprise, Suga says that he doesn’t care. The setter sounds completely worn out
and would probably agree to anything his friends posed to him.
Daichi says, tentatively, “Earlier you were so opposed. I’m glad you changed
your mind.”
“Was I?” Suga asks. He sounds momentarily confused and then seems to lose
interest in his question and follows up with a tired “Oh. Ha ha. I guess… I
guess it’s okay.”
 “You must be cold and hungry and hurt. We should have brought you something—”
“I’m not cold,” Suga whispers. “I’m not cold anymore…so it’s okay.”
“That’s…” Asahi starts.
Daichi meets his distressed gaze for a second. “That’s not good, Suga.” If Suga
isn’t feeling cold does that mean that he’s lost feeling in his extremities, or
maybe his mind is so far removed from his current situation? Could he get
hypothermia? It’s so warm in the car that Daichi’s unsure what it feels like
outside right now. Earlier, he was scared to think about what a ‘game over’
situation would look like in real life—now this is getting too close for
comfort. He tells Suga, “You have to stay awake and keep talking to us.”
“I’m…at four percent.”
“What?”
“My phone’s at four percent… It’s…gonna die.”
“Okay,” Daichi says, trying to sound calm. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Okay, Suga. It’s
going to be okay.”
“Maybe…” Suga says. “I’m…at four percent too…you know?”
As if they weren’t already feeling the time pressure. “No, we’re going to find
you before then, okay?” the captain reassures. This hurts. Hearing Suga’s voice
like this hurts. The vice-captain can barely string a sentence together.
Again, Daichi recalls that same memory from his childhood, that memory he can’t
seem to shake right now, because everything—from this road to the darkness to
his sense of dread—is reminiscent. Except now he understands that things have
the potential to get so much worse.
“Promise me,” he all but begs, “that you won’t give up even if you’re phone
dies, because we’re still coming for you. Promise me.”
“I have to…pee again,” Suga mumbles to himself. “Too tired.”
“I’m calling now,” Asahi states. “We should get there first. But they should be
right behind us.”
Daichi picks up the phone from the cup holder and disables speaker phone. He
can hear the beginning of Asahi’s conversation with the emergency responders,
the ace sounding more desperate than he had previously. Was he trying to keep
up a calm front for Suga’s sake?
“Are you listening? Are you still there?”
“Yeah. No,” Suga says slowly. “I don’t…know where…I am, remember? You’re the
one not…listening.”That half-hearted laugh again.
“Suga,” Daichi says. “You have to stay awake as long as you can, okay? We can’t
have anything more to happen to you. We…we’re playing Nekoma next weekend, so
we need you with us to beat them. And…the season finale of ‘King of Basketball’
is this Sunday. You can’t miss that. And you’ll worry your mom and dad. Me too.
I—”
“I like…your voice…Dai…chi,” Suga murmurs.
Don’t say that at a time like this! “Suga, please, I—”
The dial tone interrupts Daichi’s words. Pulling the phone away from his ear,
he stares at the end screen in horror and tries desperately to call the setter
back, but it goes straight to voicemail. That’s when he notices seven missed
calls from his mom and two missed calls from Suga’s dad. It’s late and they
must be worried that their sons haven’t come home. He’s dreading having to face
his mother again after running off earlier. At least the hospital will notify
Suga’s family so Daichi doesn’t have to explain—or should he call? He can’t
bring himself to.
Asahi’s still explaining things over the phone, and it sounds as if they keep
asking him the same questions over and over again. He grows more exasperated by
the minute until, finally, he all but roars, “I already told you that. Just get
here!” Daichi wants to yell too. He wants throw his phone onto the floorboard.
His skin is tingling with the urge to just lose it. But something about
watching the anger and frustration play out in Asahi’s expression sobers him.
Someone has to have a cool head.
Daichi asks, “Are they coming?”
“They have to.”
“How are we doing on gas?”
“I think we’ll make it. But it won’t get us back down.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
“You’re asking me? Are you?”
“I will be, once we find him.”
Asahi starts to speak but cuts himself off before he can get anything out.
Chewing on his lip, he hums to himself softly and thrums his fingers on the
steering wheel again, features grim and tense with unspoken words. His eyes
scan the road ahead and surrounding area for deer. After a few minutes, he
says, “This isn’t the first time, is it?”
Daichi clutches his phone harder thinking back to that time in the playground
when Suga had first told him. ‘It happened two weeks ago,’ Suga had said. ‘He
made me use my mouth,’ Suga said. ‘I feel so dirty… It’s all I can think about…
I miss the old me.’Daichi shakes away the memories. He replies, “No. It’s not.”
“Is someone stalking him?”
“I don’t know. He won’t tell me anything about the person who did this.”
“Really?” Asahi asks. “Do you think that it’s someone we know?”
Daichi turns in his seat to face the ace fully. “It’s got to be, right? Someone
from school or someone from the neighborhood. And he must have threatened him
with something really bad for Suga not to say anything at all.” Maybe he can
bounce his theories off of Asahi to see if he’s crazy and overstepping, or
maybe on the right track. He hasn’t let himself ponder what to do with the
information if he obtains it, because Suga obviously doesn’t want to do
anything. But at least he’d know. Then, maybe he could protect his friends.
“That’s a good point.” Asahi breathes heavily. “Still, I can’t believe he’s
been pretending everything’s fine all this time. I can’t imagine—That sounds so
hard.”
“Yeah.”
                                      ***
The car runs out of gas just before the end of the road. The headlights catch
on the shiny metal surface of a bike in the middle of a large, open area
several dozen paces ahead, a few picnic tables also illuminated while the rest
of the scene masked in darkness. Leaving the car running, the two boys step out
and shiver in unison. They can see their breath in front of them. The yellow
lighting, the swaying branches overhead, and the sheer silence of being removed
from civilization. It’s creepy.
They start down the road, eyes peeled for the silver-haired boy. A bag—Suga’s
schoolbag—lies on its side, its contents half spilled out in the dirt. Asahi
approaches it slowly and crouches down.
“Suga?” Daichi calls out, the setter’s name getting stuck in his throat. He
tries a second time. “Suga! Suga, can you hear me?” Looking around, Daichi’s
gaze lights on more of Suga’s belongings—a shirt, a coat—strewn about. Stepping
around a puddle of puke, he shouts again.
“There’s blood here,” Asahi says quietly. And then he stands and starts off
toward the trees, following the trail of crimson. The captain follows at a jog,
heart beating a mile a minute, using the flashlight on his phone to guide them.
The trees become smaller and sparser as the ground slopes down. Daichi thinks
he catches a glimpse of the pond through the branches and is staring at the
surface when he runs into Asahi’s back.
“What…?” Fear causing the light to shake, Daichi follows Asahi’s line of sight.
“Daichi, I can’t,” Asahi gasps, taking several steps back, voice muffled by his
own hand covering his mouth. “You have to—I’m sorry, I can’t…”
Daichi nods vaguely, hearing the sound of Asahi retching as if he’s underwater.
He understands the ace’s terror.
Suga.
The boy’s body is curled into the fetal position, hands tied together with some
kind of cloth, with only one sock on. His skin is pale as can be, each mark on
his body as stark and noticeable as writing on a dry erase board. Red-purple
bruises, blue-tinged fingertips, brown dirt clinging to his forearms and knees,
red blood. A lot of blood. Swallowing, Daichi lowers himself to kneel beside
the setter, noticing many more, smaller scratches and bruises. With eyes
closed, he stretches a hand out to Suga’s face, having already winced at how
crooked and obviously broken his friend’s nose is, only opening his eyes when
he feels Suga exhale and knows the boy is breathing. His shoulders sag.
“He’s alive,” he calls to Asahi. He’s alive. He’s…
Daichi first tries to untie Suga’s wrists, but his fingers shake too much and
the knot is tied so tightly he can’t get it undone. He only ends up cursing and
trembling even more. Cold, he’s so cold. He fumbles with his jacket and covers
the setter’s middle. Scooping Suga’s hands into his own, he blows on them,
ignoring the encrusted dirt and dried vomit. His feet. His ears, his
nose.Daichi doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how badly Suga is
hurt—does he have any broken bones?—so moving him is out of the question, even
though the warmth of the car seems promising. It now feels miles away.
“Asahi. Bring me Suga’s coat and whatever clothes are over there. We need to
get him warm.” And then quietly, to the vice-captain, “Suga? Suga. Hey, we’re
here. Okay, Suga. Just hang on a little bit more.” He pulls Suga’s upper body
carefully into his lap, holding him closely and rambling. “I’m sorry, Suga. I
know you probably don’t want to be touched right now, but it’s cold out. It’s
pretty cold. When we go for our practice match I hope it’s not this cold,
especially leaving so early in the morning. I mean…”
“These are the only things I could find,” Asahi says, handing over the coat and
shirt without looking directly at Suga’s unconscious form. “He didn’t have his
practice stuff, so… And I couldn’t find his pants or anything. How is he?”
Doing his best to cover the exposed parts of Suga’s body with the clothes while
not jostling the boy too much, Daichi says, “I don’t know. I really don’t
know.”
“The ambulance should be here soon.”
“That’s good,” Daichi hears himself respond. He stares at Suga’s bloodstained
face, wanting to wipe away the mess but not wanting to cause him any more pain.
Asahi says something about going to wait by the road and the captain nods.
He doesn’t know how long they wait. It’s hard to distinguish lengths of time
when everything is so motionless and quiet. He counts Suga’s breaths. He counts
his own. He stays statue still, even when his legs start to go numb and a
strong gust of wind brings tears to his eyes. Suga was right; the stars are
much brighter here.
Then, Asahi’s shouts of “over here!” break through the silence, and before
Daichi can question anything, flashing red lights are dancing across the trees
and the ground. Tires are crunching across gravel. Car doors slam, unfamiliar
voices join the mix, and then Asahi again: “This way!”
The paramedics circle the pair, bringing a stretcher and various medical
instruments. They check Suga’s pulse and his eyes, examining his hands and
taking his temperature, all while firing question after question at Daichi,
most of which he doesn’t have an answer to. Someone cuts the neck tie around
Suga’s wrists, revealing the chafed and bleeding skin beneath. Daichi moves
aside and they lift the vice-captain onto the stretcher and proceed to carry
him to the ambulance.
“Are you riding to the hospital with us?”
Both teens nod. “Yes. Thank you.”
Asahi rides up front, while Daichi joins the group in the back. There’s a lot
of movement, but none of it is frantic or rushed, and every one of the
paramedics projects an aura of calm that allows the captain to sit back in his
seat. They’re professionals. They’re going to help us. When the back doors are
shut firmly and the rumble of the engine reverberates through the vehicle,
Daichi sighs. He’s so glad to get off this fucking mountain.
Chapter End Notes
     -though this chapter may seem unassuming, there's some foreshadowing
     and other set up of things to come.
     -next chapter, hmm, probably shouldn't say anything...
     -Also, I too am glad to get off that fucking mountain and move on
     from what happened there. Finally a change of scenery.
***** 村 *****
Chapter Notes
     ***TRIGGER WARNINGS: ATTEMPTED SUICIDE, suicidal thoughts, self-
     hate***
     -I swear on the safety of my laptop that this is the last time I
     torture Suga
See the end of the chapter for more notes
He wakes up warm. The pillow is fluffy and the blanket pulled up to his chin is
thick, keeping the heat close to his body. His body hurts. When he shifts into
a sitting position, he notices the wires connected to him and opens his eyes
fully, seeing a sterile hospital room. There are tubes in his nose. His wrists
are bandaged. Though his hands are clean of the blood and vomit, dirt still
lingers in the crevices of his fingernails. It’s the case with the rest of his
body—he feels cleaner, but not truly clean.
Suga doesn’t remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembers was talking
to Asahi about calling an ambulance. Maybe something about my phone dying? Was
it Daichi and Asahi who found me first? Do my parents know? Trying to sit up,
he throws his gaze around the empty room.
It seems his secret can’t be a secret much longer. Stomach swirling at the
thought, Suga wishes that he could stop thinking altogether. If he sleeps, then
he doesn’t have to worry about explaining this to his family. He doesn’t have
to remember any of what happened either.
Like that feeling of pleasure that wracked his body and blacked out his mind.
It was so intense. He really doesn’t want to think about it, but he must be
pretty fucked up to climax while being raped and after being hit like he was.
How could that feel good? Is he a masochist? What if it means that he’s like
Nakamura, or will be someday? Suga’s heart beats heavily in his chest, the
sound resounding against his eardrums and sticking in his throat. Being like
Nakamura is something he can’t live with.
Suga just wants to sleep and not think about any of it, and if he doesn’t wake
up, then that doesn’t sound too bad either.
Just then, a nurse pops her head into the room and straightens when she sees
him awake, plastering a smile onto her face and striding quickly to his
bedside. She takes his vitals and asks him how he’s feeling. There’s too much
movement and too many words for him to keep up, but then she says something
about his mom and Suga finally looks at her.
“Do they know?” he asks, voice thick and nasally due to his injury.
The nurse stills for a second while taking down her notes, and then she smiles
again when she looks up. “Yes. Both of your parents were informed of your
condition. I’ll go get them now.”
She’s quick to leave. Is this how it’s going to be? Is my presence, my mere
existence, going to make everyone uncomfortable?This is why he wanted to keep
it a secret. I’m a walking offense. Just by being here, I’m bringing more than
just my family down. I shouldn’t… He gazes down at his hands not even bothering
to try to stop his thoughts from spiraling deeper and deeper into self-hate.
“Kou-chan!”
Suga looks up from studying his fingernails at his mother’s voice. The sound
makes tears spring to his eyes, and then she’s upon him, not hugging him fully,
which he’s grateful for, but lightly holding his shoulders. She brings a hand
up to his cheek.
“Kou-chan, Kou-chan,” she says, eyes boring into his, and it feels like they’re
seeing everything. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much, and I’m so sorry.”
Suga can’t speak. He’s rendered mute, everything swirling in his head at once,
but nothing taking the shape of words. Suga becomes hyperaware of how he’s so
quiet, which only makes him more self-conscious about disappointing his mom
because she always puts so much stock in conversation. His cheeks burn and he
feels the intensity of a thousand spotlights trained on him. He has to say
something. Anything. If he can’t even greet his mom…
He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until his mother says, alarmed,
“Breathe, Koushi. Just breathe. Slowly now.”
Suga lets out a shaky breath and blinks. “Mom,” he cries, face contorting as
his bruised and misshapen features move painfully. He’s so glad his mom is
here, finally feeling safe. This time she wraps her arms around him fully,
whispering consolations soothingly. They stay there like that for a few
minutes. Suga sniffles. “Where’s Dad?” he asks, just now noticing that his
father isn’t here.
“He’s waiting with your friends until their parents come,” she replies quietly,
pulling back. “They’re a little shaken up. And he wanted to thank them for
everything they’ve done.”
Daichi. Asahi. “They found me, right?”
His mom smiles tightly. “They sure did.”
“I can’t believe they managed to find me.” It wasn’t until Asahi decided that
he knew which pond it was that Suga actually began believing that his rescue
was a possibility. He didn’t even know where he was and his friends found him.
They’re so amazing. They can do amazing things together.
They don’t really need him.
“Koushi,” his mom starts hesitantly. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Suga feels his expression still and his thoughts slow to a crawl. His throat
tightens like someone’s gripping his windpipe. He looks down at his hands, eye
contact so hard to keep when he knows she’s expecting a response. It’s silent
for a few minutes.
“Can you tell me who did this?” she then asks. She waits again, but again he
makes no response.
She’s too patient and these silences almost make me want to fill them.
“Would you let the doctors check you out? If you change your mind about talking
later I don’t want you to regret not having been checked out or not having this
physical evidence.”
The tone of her voice—almost pleading—gets him to look up. He doesn’t want his
mom to sound like that because of him. “I don’t know,” he says. He can’t
imagine changing his mind but his mom really wants him to do this. Maybe if he
does, she won’t ask him questions anymore. “What should I do?”
“I think it’s best if you let them look you over.”
All right. Heart racing, he nods. He starts to prepare himself mentally.
Someone’s going to look at him, at his naked body. A doctor. It can’t be that
bad.
                                      ***
The rape examination is the most embarrassing and uncomfortable forty minutes
of his life. Having a stranger’s eyes on him, hands on him—taking pictures of
his face, his wrists, his back. There’s no pretending to forget because when
the bruises fade from his body, they’ll still be captured on film forever. The
worst day of his life will be immortalized in pictures.
They take swabs and draw blood. They ask him plenty of mortifyingly invasive
questions, some of which he lies about and some he doesn’t.
“Have you had any other sexual partners, male or female?”
“No.”
“Has this ever happened before?”
“No.”
“Do you know who did this to you?”
“No.”
“How many times did he rape you?”
“Once.”
 “What—in as much detail as you can remember—was your experience?” Question
upon question upon question.  
The nurse scribbles one last thing and then finally sets down her clipboard. 
“So,” she starts, voice oozing formality. It sounds as if she’s reciting from a
book. “Since a condom wasn’t used, that puts you at risk for sexually
transmitted infections. But we can get you antibiotics if you would like.”
Oh. He never considered this. He’d better take the antibiotics because Nakamura
admitted to sleeping with prostitutes, so there’s a higher chance probably.
It’s been three weeks since the first time so what if he’s had some sort of
infection all this time? He hasn’t noticed anything weird, but it’s not like he
really knows what to look for.
By the time they take him back to his room, he wonders if the nurse who
examined him believes him or thinks he’s lying. She had asked, in that
painfully brusque voice, “Did you say ‘no’?”
“Yes.”
“Did you at any time, verbally or otherwise, express that you wanted to have
sex?”
He hesitated. He did, but he was made to say it, so surely that doesn’t count.
“I don’t think so,” he answered.
It doesn’t count, he tells himself as his mind replays every ‘I want it’ that
tumbled from his lips, each one draining more out of him. He feels so empty,
like everything that makes up who he is has gone—washed away in the shower—and
he’s not sure how to get it back. His hands shake uncontrollably.
It’d be nice if they didn’t shake anymore, if they didn’t move at all.
                                      ***
Suga’s dad enters the room alone, expression uncomfortable and shoulders stiff.
Taking his time approaching the bed, the man’s gaze sweeps around, landing on
everything before his son’s face. His eyes are red-rimmed—from crying?—but Suga
pretends he doesn’t notice.
“How are you doing?” the man finally asks.  
This is not a time to say, ‘good,’ ‘fine,’ ‘well,’ or respond with any other
positive adjective, yet Suga can’t break from habit and ends up saying, “Okay.”
The softness of the hospital’s blanket slips through his fingers as he
rearranges it in his lap, keeping his features blank. Internally he muses, I’m
lying. I’m such a liar. Daichi was right that day.
“Your mom said you wouldn’t say anything,” his dad says. “Won’t you talk to us?
Won’t you at least tell us what the guy looked like?”
Suga just wants to be done with this line of questioning. Why won’t they just
leave him be? He almost sighs. “Why is that the second question you ask? Out of
everything, why do you have to ask that?”
“Because the police could be searching for the guy right now. If we knew where
to look or who to look for, then everything—”
“Why do you care so much?” The loudness of the setter’s voice makes him cough
and then wince. ‘Then everything’ what? Nothing will be the same again. It’s
not going to fix me. It’s not going to make everything okay again.
“Why don’t you?” his dad fires back. “I don’t understand why you won’t say
anything. Don’t you want the police to arrest this man?”
There are times when he wonders why himself. But at other times, he remembers
every single touch and threat whispered. It becomes clear to Suga that it’s
easy enough for his dad to say that he should speak up when the teacher never
laid a finger on him. His dad has never felt Nakamura’s fist in his hair, or
felt that heavy weight on his back, or felt those fingers push into him, or—or
any of that. Suga wishes he could tell his dad this—that every time the name
rises to the surface of his mind, his throat goes dry. Every time he’s reminded
about what happened he feels the ghost of those hands on him, that man inside
of him, and he feels dirty all over again. It’s already bad; what if it gets
worse?
It’s easy to say, ‘speak up’ when you feel safe and you like yourself and your
mind is not a sinkhole and you know you’ll be outside the range of backlash
when things go wrong.
His father’s frustration grows. He says, “Don’t you get it. He can’t hurt you
anymore.”
No, you don’t get it. He can and he will. He can hurt my friends. What if I do
say something and the authorities don’t believe me or there’s not enough
evidence to prove it was Nakamura-sensei or he finds out before anyone can
arrest him? If I’m not one hundred percent sure that Nakamura will end up
behind bars, then what’s the point because then it’ll just be worse. I will
have made things worse. There are so many things that can go wrong. He can
suddenly feel Nakamura’s breath in his ear, telling him exactly what could go
wrong, and it makes him feel so small.
Suga licks his lips nervously and says, “I can’t tell you anything so please
stop asking. He’ll—”
“Do what? What could be worse than what he’s already done? Tell me, Koushi.
What could he have threatened you with?”
Suga shakes his head. It could be worse. “I don’t know. It’s just—”
“Now you don’t know?” his father questions. “Just tell me a name and we can fix
this! We can help you! You don’t even have to report it. Just tell me and I’ll
make that bastard pay!”
The idea of a confrontation between his father and Nakamura-sensei fills him
with dread. His dad’s kind of a small guy, so what if he gets hurt? What if he
gets in trouble with the police and then gets in trouble with his job? No, no,
no, no. This isn’t Dad’s problem. Stop. I just want to press pause. I don’t
want to think about any of this.
They don’t understand. “I’m disgusting.” Nobody understands this feeling. Part
of him knows he’s surrounded by people that profess to care but he still feels
so alone, because no one gets it. “I don’t deserve your help. If you really
knew, you’d think I’m disgusting too!”
“Maybe you are! It’s disgusting that your keeping his secret for him!”
Suga’s breath falters. He swallows and agrees, “I am. I am. I know I am. The
worst.” And then he starts thinking, I am the worst. I came; he made me come.
How could I?If anybody knew the truth how could he say he didn’t want it?
People will think he enjoyed it.
“You’re not helping anybody by staying silent.”
I am the worst. Weird. Gross. Even my dad says so. I knew Mom and Daichi were
lying and are secretly disgusted with me too. They’re just being nice. I mean,
maybe Mom actually believes in me, because she’s her, but there’s no way Daichi
could still like me after how he saw me. Besides, they would be better off
without me. They can stop trying to fix me. I’ve made no progress. I just go
backwards. I got in a car with the same man who hurt them the first time. It
must be tiring for them. And even if they say they love me, how could they?
They don’t know me. I don’t even know me. The past me is gone. All I know is
this hollow, echoing part of myself that’s made up of lingering shame and
hatred and bitterness. Suga’s been quiet for so long, it’s easier to just say
nothing about his attacker.
He says, “I hate myself.”
I got in that car. He messed with my head, sure, but I still got in despite
knowing how it would turn out. I knew. I knew and maybe I wanted it to turn out
like it did. Since the first time, Suga has been acting a little
reckless—neglecting his body, making himself sick. In the back of his mind was
always the thought that he wanted to break. Break completely. He doesn’t even
feel like crying, he’s so empty. This body that he hates, he wants to be done
with it.
His father drags his hands along his face and pointedly redirects his gaze to
the window. He says, “I can’t deal with you. I don’t understand you at all.”
In my head, I know I’m being difficult, but I can’t help it. Look at what
you’re doing. You just keep hurting everyone.He’s awful. He’s probably dirty
too. When the tests come back, they’ll probably confirm it. Daichi deserves
someone better. I can’t be the one for him. I’m never going to be the one for
anyone. Not even that bastard Nakamura wanted him for him, instead using him as
a substitute for someone else, not that Suga ever wanted to be wanted by his
teacher.
So many thoughts fly through his head until one sticks.
I can’t be like him.
There’s no way that I’ll let myself become like that monster.
I’d rather die.
His father sighs. “Koushi, I didn’t mean what I said. I was being too
emotional. You’re not a problem to be dealt with. You’re not disgusting. I
shouldn’t have said—”
“It’s okay,” Suga responds without much emotion.I don’t want to be here. I
really don’t want to be anywhere. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Koushi.” His dad looks worried and apologetic. He reaches for his son’s hand
but Suga feels himself pull away reflexively. “I misspoke. I hope you know I
love you no matter what. I—”
“I’m sorry.”
Studying the fibers in his blanket, Suga doesn’t acknowledge his father’s
appeasements. The man doesn’t mean them anyways. What he had said first was the
truth—it’s what Suga has been thinking, so this confirmation isn’t shocking. He
doesn’t blame his dad, who was only saying what the others couldn’t bring
themselves to say. He’s disgusting. He’s useless. Everyone just needs to stop
being nice to me because I don’t deserve it. This charity just makes everything
hurt even more. He blinks away his weakness.
“Koushi, look at me, please,” his father pleads.
“What’s going on?” his mother’s voice suddenly sounds from the doorway.
Suga glances up, seeing his mom looking utterly exhausted, and Daichi right
behind her, worried. He looks away quickly, back to his lap.
“What did you say to him?” she demands.
My face must not be as stoic as I imagined. I should say something, tell her
it’s not Dad’s fault. No, Suga thinks. She’ll just ask more about all of this.
I’m sorry, Dad. He stays silent, watching them argue in low voices as they walk
out into the hall, which is when he peers up at Daichi’s expression. He doesn’t
think Daichi will ask again after their fight last time, but he wants to dispel
any thoughts about his dad being involved.  
“It’s not him, Daichi,” Suga says the moment he hears the door click behind his
parents.
“That’s not what I was thinking.”
The setter doubts it. He adds, “It’s not his fault. He didn’t say anything I
didn’t already know anyway.”
Daichi’s grip tightens on the bed’s safety rail. “Which is?”
Suga doesn’t answer, shaking his head. It’s a strange atmosphere, like when the
air’s warm despite a storm brewing. Suga can feel the clouds waiting as they
avoid addressing what was said on the phone. After a long while, he asks, “Is
Asahi okay?”
“Yeah,” Daichi responds firmly. “His dad came to get him and they decided that
he’ll come by to see you tomorrow. My mom’s waiting out there.”
“Did you get in trouble?”
“No. Or, I guess, not yet,” Daichi says, the apprehension fading from his
expression bit by bit. He kind of smiles, just barely. “She was just worried.
Apparently, she and your dad both called Takeda-sensei about us. I’m surprised
my mom even has his number.”
The heaviness settles in again when the silence presses against the walls. Here
they are trying to talk about normal things when there’s so much that hasn't
been resolved between them. At least in person. Suga doesn’t want to be the one
to bring it up, but every time he glances at the captain, he remembers. He
confessed to Daichi, and then Daichi found him beaten and naked in the dirt.
“I hate that you saw me like that, so dirty and pathetic.” Suga bites his
trembling bottom lip. Somehow, it’s easier to admit these sorts of feelings to
Daichi than anyone else. With his parents, with that nurse, the words just
couldn’t escape his throat. “It’s so embarrassing just thinking about it.”
Daichi’s eyes are soft and sympathetic. “You were barely breathing and were so
cold it turns out you had hypothermia,” Daichi says simply. “The only thing on
my mind was getting you warm and keeping you alive.”
Why does he care so much? Suga doesn’t understand it. Calling Daichi, making
him search for me, giving him this hope where there really is none—where I
intend to snatch it away when no one’s looking—is my biggest regret right now.
I should have just died on that mountain without getting anyone involved. I was
weak. I couldn’t stand the idea of Daichi hating me for a minute longer. I had
to apologize. Daichi.Daichi. Suga wants to say his name over and over, hold it,
wrap it around him, pull any amount of comfort that he can from its sound. He’s
afraid he doesn’t have the right to do so. It’s not something he can ask.
“What?” Daichi rubs the back of his neck. “You’re staring.”
Suga looks away and finds himself smiling. It’s not forced, but somehow, he
feels sadder than ever. “You’re a great friend, the best someone could have.
And I’m glad it’s you.”
“Huh?”
Closing his eyes, Suga feigns sleepiness. Daichi says he’ll take his leave and
come back to visit tomorrow. The captain makes a big deal out of telling Suga
how he’s going to be back with Asahi. I’m not going to be here tomorrow, I’ve
decided. But I’m glad it’s you, whom I have these feelings for, whom I spoke to
last. There’s no one better honestly. If things had been different, maybe—if I
hadn’t of pretended to not know your feelings for a whole year—if I could trade
in this traitorous, gross body of mine for one that’s untouched—maybe then I
could reach out for your hand without feeling guilty.Still, the hopelessness
doesn’t taste the same anymore that he has a course of action. So, when his
mother enters again, he doesn’t stir, pretending to be deep in sleep.
He supposes he should feel bad, deceiving them all like this. Should he have
given them something more or would that have been cruel?
He’s so tired. What does it matter?
Eventually he slips into a real sleep.
                                      ***
He opens his eyes after everything has been dark and quiet for a while,
anticipation gnawing at him. They’d disconnected him from the tubes and wires
while he was asleep, body apparently back to a normal temperature.
Looking around the dark room, Suga decides that it has to be now. His heart
starts racing when he stands, and he reaches out for the bed to steady himself.
Hospital gown not providing the same warmth as the blankets did, a chill runs
up his spine. Moving toward the bathroom, he uses everything along the way as a
handrail, and when his hand lands on a pen resting on a small end table, he
thinks, oh yeah. I should probably leave a note. Afterwards, he can use this
pen—break it so the hard-plastic shell becomes jagged. He’s not sure about his
grip strength, so maybe he’ll have to bite it…? But his mouth kind of hurts.
Mind already imagining the scenario unflinchingly, he grabs the pen and rips
off a sheet of paper from a notepad sitting beside a telephone there.
The sound causes a stirring in the corner and his mother lifts her head from
the edge of an armchair. Suga jumps. She’s looking directly at him, blinking
away the sleep in her eyes. Apparently, she had rushed here when she got the
call almost finished with a double-shift at the hospital across town. He
doesn’t know when the last time she slept or got any rest was. He hesitates
momentarily, thinking maybe he should just get back in bed and pretend none of
this ever happened.
But if things continue like they have been, and if every day is like today or
yesterday, or these past three weeks, then what’s the point of trying?
He decides to go through with it. She just surprised him is all. He had hoped
Daichi would be the last person would speak to because he was kind of scared of
this scenario with his mom—but no matter. If it’s my mom, it’s okay too. He
just couldn’t bear the idea of Nakamura-sensei being the last face he saw.
That’s why this is better than dying on that mountain.I get to say goodbye in a
way. It won’t be drawn out though, he decides. His note will be succinct and
not overly emotional.
“Just going to the bathroom,” he says before she can ask, trying to hide the
pen and paper at an angle she can’t see. Luckily, it’s so dark, she doesn’t
notice the nuances of his expression.
Still, she asks, “Are you still hurting?” and he can’t tell whether she means
it in a physical sense or emotional one.
“Kind of,” he replies, spending a long moment just looking at her, trying to
memorize her face perfectly. This is the last time, he thinks. His chest aches.
He wonders if he should tell her he loves her, but that will surely alert her.
He blinks slowly, ensuring that he’s got the image just right.
“I’ll be right here, Kou-chan,” she says. The words echo in his mind. She’s
offering out her hand to help.
He turns away and hobbles to the small bathroom, pretending to himself that
he’s not scared at all.
If he takes it then she’ll definitely drown too, right?
I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.
Daichi. Dad. Asahi. Everyone.
I’m sorry.
                                      ***
                                   i’m sorry
                                      ***
Sugawara Koushi’s mom has a bad feeling. She awakes with a start, instantly
realizing that she had fallen asleep instead of just closing her eyes for a
second. The dark room feels wrong and when she looks to her son’s hospital bed
to find it empty, the wariness she had felt in her sleep intensifies.
She knocks on the bathroom door calling out her son’s name. When she gets no
response, she bites back her immediate worry. As a nurse, she’s aware of all
the hazards that can present themselves to someone in her son’s condition,
weakened from hypothermia. “Koushi, are you all right?”
His physical condition isn’t what she’s really worried about, though. The
silence and the beating of her now racing heart is all the answer she needs.
“Koushi.” She twists the knob, unsurprised but still frustrated that it’s
locked. “Answer me this instant!”
A nurse appears in the doorway, flicking the light on, looking harried and
questioning. “What—”
“We need a key to this room now!”
The nurse doesn’t ask questions, just rushes out of the room, returning moments
later with a key held high and two other nurses in tow. One of them holds
Suga’s mom back while the first fits the key into the keyhole and pushes her
way inside. The mother tries to pull herself away, craning her neck to see
what’s inside the little bathroom. That’s my son. You can’t hold me here.
That’s my son.
“Get a gurney!” the first nurse commands suddenly. There’s movement all around
and she notices no one’s holding her back anymore. “He’s not breathing. There’s
a pulse. Barely.”
“We’ve got to stop the bleeding.”
She’s already reaching out when she reaches the doorway to the little room. The
sight makes her falter. Blood pools on the floor beside her son, whose body
lays there limp and pale. The nurses themselves have blood staining their hands
and shirtfronts. They wrap Koushi’s arms in gauze and bandages. Snapping out of
her trance, she rushes in to help.
“Tell me what to do,” she urges them.
“Let us handle this,” one nurse says while another nods.
“I’m a nurse too!” Damn it!
“You’re shaking like crazy. You’re in shock.”
“We’ll take care of him.”
But that’s my son. I have to help. You said he’s not breathing. She realizes
that that’s something that’s never happened before. Her son has always
breathed. He’s never been devoid of this much blood. He’s never been so lost
that he’s tried to take his own life. She had taken it all for granted. My
baby. Kou-chan, hang in there.
They lift the silver-haired boy onto a gurney. “We have permission to perform a
transfusion?”
The mom nods right as the group is pushing past the threshold and into the
hallway. She stays behind, clutching her trembling fingers together and staring
at the puddle of red that came from her son. If she hadn’t fallen asleep, it
wouldn’t have taken so long to realize something was wrong. If she’d insisted
that his father hadn’t meant what he said. There has to be something she could
have said or done.
“What am I supposed to do?” she asks the empty room. Despair covers the walls
like an expensive wallpaper. Breathing in the sadness and letting it fill her,
she thinks that he must have felt so alone. He must have—
In the sink is a piece of paper.
With tentative fingers, she unfolds it. It takes three readings of this paper
for it to feel real, to realize that Koushi intended these to be his last
words. He didn’t address it to anyone nor mention any names.
 I hate to waste your kindness like this, but it’d be even more of a waste to
live bitterly and drag you all down with me. I’m scared that I’ll keep hurting
  you, and I’m scared that I’ll turn out like him. That can’t happen. He took
everything from me, but this choice is my own. I’ve resolved myself and none of
 this is anybody’s fault but my own. I’m sorry for troubling you. I’m so sorry
                                for everything.
                                Sugawara Koushi
This is the last thing any parent wants to read. Comfort? Closure? This is just
twisting the knife further because how could she not blame herself? If he had
voiced even one of these concerns, she could have easily debunked them. There’s
no way that you could turn out like that monster, Koushi. I didn’t raise my son
in a way that it’s even a possibility. And you’re not hurting me. And—Damn it!
There’s still so much she needs to say to her son. He has to be all right.
Something on the floor catches her eye. There’s writing there too. More to
Koushi’s message? Something he forgot or didn’t have the chance to write in his
note?Crouching down, she can make out the kanji for “village” written in blood.
There seems to have been more to the message but it’s indecipherable, having
been stepped on and smeared by the nurses rushing in to help Koushi. She snaps
a picture of the symbol pondering what her son could have meant in writing it.
What was he trying to say so badly that he wrote it in his own blood?
Why couldn’t she help her son? If nothing else, why couldn’t she help him at
least live and teach him that everything else will follow after, but only if he
lives? She wants to wrap her arms around him. She wants to tell him that things
will get brighter. She wants to ruffle his hair and hear his voice and see his
eyes light up with hope.
No. No, Koushi’s not dead. This tiny bathroom can’t be where it ends for him.
He’s going to be fine and he’ll live such a long and full life that when his
time does finally come, he won’t even remember this place. She pushes the note
to her chest and scrunches her eyes shut.I want Koushi to live a long and
wonderful life. That’s my only wish. Please.
She wishes she hadn’t sent her husband away, longing for his support right now.
Even if he was a catalyst in all this, obviously Koushi was already having
these thoughts, and she hadn’t noticed. Before tonight, his eating habits,
quietness, and sick demeanor—they were all warning signs. A thought suddenly
strikes her and sends a huge weight to the pit of her stomach. Had something
been happening all along?
“Sugawara-san.”
She barely reacts to the voice, opening her eyes slowly as to delay having to
see the doctor’s expression. She’s seen this scenario countless times—has been
there for many of them. If it was good news it would be said right away without
hesitation, and the only reason the doctor is pausing now is to gauge her
mental state and figure out the best way to deliver the bad news. She knows.
She knows all this and yet she can’t help but look up at the doctor with
hopeful eyes, because this is her son whom she gave birth to and watched grow
up and if this is how it ends then what kind of mother was she?
“Your son lost a great deal of blood, and was deprived of oxygen for an
extended period of time. We lost a heartbeat for a bit before we were able to
resuscitate him. However, the shock and the lack of oxygen caused him to slip
into a coma.”
Coma? Coma. A coma means he’s not dead, yet there’s so much gray area. Some
last a couple of days while others last indefinitely. Still, he’s not dead. She
stands, tucks the suicide note into her back pocket, and asks, “Is he breathing
on his own?”
The doctor brightens slightly. “Yes. So, we’re hopeful.”
She needs to see for herself that he’s alive, and she needs to get out of this
bloodstained room. “Can I see him now?”
This isn’t the end. There’s still hope. There’s still things that can be done.
Chapter End Notes
     -Am I sorry? Am I not? I’ve spent so much time agonizing over whether
     I actually wanted to go through with it, that in the end I was just
     like, “fuck it, call me a cliché bastard, but Imma write what I
     want.”
     -nowhere to go but up, right?
     -but damn, I could write soap operas if it wasn’t a day-to-day
     commitment
     -next chapter, Daichi & the team are brought up to speed…
***** Muddy Flowerbed *****
Chapter Notes
     hi :)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Daichi arrives at school early the next morning only to realize he doesn’t have
the key to the gym or club room. He sits on the ground in front of the gym,
sliding his bag off of his shoulder and watching his breath swirl in the air in
before him. He only got a few hours of sleep last night.
Suga’s body, bloodied and naked, flashes behind his eyelids whenever Daichi
blinks, and a jolt of terror traces the line of his spine until he remembers
that the setter’s not there anymore. He’s not on that mountain. It freaks him
out though, and he can’t stop himself from seeing it or thinking about how cold
Suga had been, how motionless. For a short moment, when his flashlight beam had
first found the vice-captain’s body, Daichi had thought that his friend was
dead.
Terrifying.
So scary that when he finally called home, his mother’s initial shriek wasn’t
as worrisome at all. His mom had been mad, a lot angrier than he had let on to
Suga, but she had let him stay to see his friend.
And though he explained the situation, with the least amount of omissions
possible, he felt disappointment gnawing in his stomach with each word said.
There’s so much his mom doesn’t know about what happened that night. And there
were so many instances on the ride home, staring through his reflection in the
window, that he thought, this is a good time to tell her. I should tell her
now. Tell her that I’m gay and I’m in love with my best friend. But every time
he hesitated and the moment passed only to be replaced by an identical one, but
it seemed so different in his mind. Daichi was on edge the entire way home,
choking on things he couldn’t bring himself to say but also secretly wishing
his mom could read the truth in his expression.
Once he was alone in his room, the feeling of nervous anticipation faded slowly
to be replaced by the images that now haunt him. Daichi remembers the exact
feel of coldness on his skin, remembers exactly how the starlight shone through
the trees. Remembers Suga lying there.
“Aw. Sawamura-kun,” Takeda-sensei says suddenly, making Daichi jump. “We’re
going to be having a team meeting this morning about Sugawara-kun’s condition.”
Takeda’s voice falters on Suga’s name.
Daichi stands, rubbing away the goosebumps through his coat, and replies,
“Okay, I’ll—”
“Actually,” Takeda cuts in kindly, placing a hand on Daichi’s shoulder and
steering him away from the gym, “I want to speak with you separately. Ukai is
going to speak to the team.”
“Why?”
“You see, Sugawara-kun’s mom called this morning.” Takeda seems anxious.
Pushing up his glasses, he stops by the stairs that lead up to the club room.
“There’s been a change in his condition since you last saw him, and she wanted
to, uh—”
“Change? What happened?” Daichi asks quickly.
“You should sit down.”
“Just tell me. Is he all right? He has to be okay, right?”
“Please just sit down, Sawamura-kun,” Takeda repeats. Daichi throws himself
down on the cement steps, wringing his hands and tapping his foot, eyes widened
expectantly. “Sugawara-kun tried to take his own life.”
He feels the weight of every syllable Takeda says.‘Tried to take his own life.’
Wanted to die. Tried to die. Suga.Daichi simultaneously wants his advisor to
hurry with the rest of the details yet is also terrified of the truth.
“He lost a lot of blood.” Tears drip down Takeda’s face and he doesn’t move to
wipe them away. “He’s comatose. I’m sorry to have to tell you this.”
Daichi doesn’t know what to say. The words are pressing down on his shoulders,
a series of increasingly heavy weights, so hefty that this can’t possibly be
happening. How is he supposed to react to this when he hasn’t even seen Suga
for himself? Maybe Takeda-sensei heard wrong and is mistaken. Suga, in a coma?
Those sorts of things only happen in movies. The setter has to be okay. Daichi
saw him last night.
He wants so badly to believe his naïve line of thinking. Otherwise, does this
mean it was all for nothing?
“I know this must be a shock,” Takeda continues. “I understand that you and
Azumane-kun went searching for Sugawara-kun last night and found him. That’s an
amazing feat. You’ve done everything you could have.”
Amazing? Daichi isn’t sure how exactly he feels right now, but not amazing.
Angry maybe. Angry at himself for not doing everything he could have, at Suga
for choosing the easy way out, at Takeda just because the teacher is here in
front of him. Disappointed. Because, of course, nothing ever goes the way it’s
supposed to.
The truth is, he kind of wants to laugh and he kind of wants to punch something
and he kind of wants to feel anything, everything, but this creeping sadness
and guilt. He blinks and sees Suga’s unmoving body again, feels the coldness of
his skin. If Suga dies, he’ll be like that again, but permanently. If Suga
dies, Daichi will never get the chance to talk to him again. He’ll never—if
Suga dies…
What was it all for?
What was Suga thinking? What did Suga’s dad say to him that Suga agreed with?
“Sawamura-kun?”
Daichi finds his voice and focuses on their advisor. “Yes. I’m okay.” He
internally laughs. What a fucking liar. You’re obviously not okay. There’s so
much pressure in his chest from the things he’s feeling and not feeling and
wants to feel, and he doesn’t know how to pick them apart, so they just sit
there. All he knows is that he’s not okay.
“There’s a quote from Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. She said, ‘Should you shield the
canyons from the windstorms, you would never see the true beauty of their
carvings.’ I think it’s a very apt saying for right now.” Takeda looks down at
Daichi hopefully, quote obviously meant to cheer him. When he sees that it
doesn’t, he tries explaining. “Weather the storm and you’ll be better off for
it in the end.”
Windstorms. Rainstorms. Snowstorms. Unresponsive, Daichi sits there thinking
that if this a storm passing, why hasn’t it gone yet? Isn’t this enough pain
for one storm? The streets are flooded, yet the onslaught hasn’t lessened, and
it’s true, there are rainbows after rainstorms, but there are also damaged
homes, broken roads, muddy pits where flowerbeds used to be. Is there really
any beauty to be found in this?
Obviously Suga didn’t think so.
“I know this is hard,” Takeda-sensei tries again calmly, tears having dried
completely. “It’s hard for all of us. And I don’t say this to downplay what
you’re feeling, but to let you know that you’re not alone. You have ten
teammates, your parents, Coach Ukai, and I, whom you can rely on. All right?”
He says, “Yes. Thank you.” He starts wondering when he can leave because he
doesn’t want to be sitting on these steps anymore, but he’s not sure there’s
anywhere he can go that will feel better than here.
“I mean it,” Takeda insists. “Perhaps I shouldn’t say this, but right now Coach
Ukai is informing the rest of the team, and they’re likely to be confused and
sad. Inevitably they’re going to look to you, Sawamura-kun, for guidance.”
Daichi relaxes his fists, which he didn’t realize he was even making until now.
He hadn’t thought this far ahead. The rest of the team still needs me.
“So, my question to you is, ‘how are you going to meet them?’”
                                      ***
“I have some bad news.”
“Coach, Daichi and Suga aren’t here yet,” Tanaka remarks. There are a few
murmurs of assent from the team. Asahi can’t imagine how they’ll react. He
didn’t have the luxury of being told in a controlled environment like this. I
nearly drove off the road.
“Our captain and vice-captain are late?” Noya scoffs. “I wonder—”
“Guys,” Asahi cuts in solemnly. But really, where is Daichi?
Coach Ukai waits until everyone is settled down. Asahi casts his gaze along the
expectant faces of his teammates sitting around him. Ennoshita and Yamaguchi
are visibly bracing themselves. Tsukishima looks like he already has some sort
of inkling. Narita and Kinoshita seem apprehensive. Tanaka and Noya’s faces
fall into worried frowns while Hinata and Kageyama’s expressions follow suit.
Shimizu whispers something to an almost-trembling Yachi, but it doesn’t seem to
do much to quell the girl’s anxiety.
Asahi just traces patterns on the floor beneath him with his fingertip and
bites his lip. He doesn’t want to hear it again, but maybe it will make more
sense a second time. Because the grizzly nature of the word “rape” didn’t
prepare him for the sight he saw upon finding Suga.
“I should warn you that what is said in this room is to be kept strictly
between the team,” Ukai says firmly. “The principal and a handful of staff are
the only ones privy to this information. And you guys. So, I trust that you
will not speak to anyone outside this room about it.”
Several members’ eyes widen. Asahi feels put on the spot even though it’s not
his secret to be told. Is Suga really okay with this? Suga’s unconscious form
flashes in his mind and Asahi quickly banishes it with nicer memories—like the
day they went to the planetarium.
He knows he should have stayed to see Suga last night, he just…He was just
scared. After seeing the gray-haired boy like that on the mountain, he was
afraid to see it again, the image of his friend’s body unmoving and bloody. Or
what if the setter smiled and pretended like everything was fine? That would be
just as unnerving. So, the ace was too scared to look in on his teammate even
after all his talk of having Suga and Daichi trust and rely on him.
Asahi shakes his head. You can do better.
“It’s about Sugawara.” Ukai collects his breath, and in that second, Asahi can
feel the weight of a dozen questions held back. “Early this morning, while
being treated in the hospital, he attempted suicide.”
Asahi’s head snaps up, body cold and eyes wide, silently begging that he heard
wrong. Attempted suicide? Suga was all right when he left yesterday, as far as
he knew. Suga wouldn’t try kill himself—he wouldn’t… Coach Ukai meets his gaze,
eyes grave and knowing, and the ace shakes his head trying to make sense of it
all. Around him, he hears the shocked gasps of his teammates and questions that
can no longer be contained flung out into the air.
Ukai silences them all with a hand. “The doctors were able to save him but he’s
now in a coma.”
It’s quiet as they all let this information sink in. A months-old image of Suga
pops into his head just then. It’s of the setter grinning from ear to in the
club room. Asahi can’t remember the context of that smile, only remembers the
result, but he remembers it now, making it nearly impossible to reconcile the
thought of Suga with suicide. Noya’s eyes are completely circular as they meet
the ace’s silently, dazed. Asahi feels the cool track of a tear drip down his
cheek.
“I know this is a shock. I’m sorry,” Ukai tries consolingly. But his words open
the floodgates.
“Coma? No way,” Tanaka says confidently. After a breath and when no one
reassures him, his voice falling into a whisper. “No way. There’s no way. No,
no, no way.”
Yachi starts sobbing into Shimizu’s shoulder. Ennoshita, dark eyes glistening,
pats the mumbling Tanaka on the back while Noya bites his fingernails and
shakes his head like he’s trying to figure out a difficult math problem. Hinata
is crying Suga’s name and clinging to Kageyama’s arm. Surprisingly, the young
setter doesn’t push him away, just sits there pale and unresponsive. Asahi
wipes the tears from his own face, but more replace them just as quickly. Maybe
if they’d gotten there faster last night…
“You said he was being treated in the hospital.” Tsukishima is the first one to
directly address the coach. Everyone looks to him when he speaks. “Why was he
there in the first place?”
In their expressions, Asahi can see a new round of questions being born.
Yamaguchi blinks around his tears, searching for an answer in his best friend’s
face.
“Where’s Daichi-san?” Tanaka asks abruptly.
“Yeah,” Noya jumps in. He stands. “What’s going on? How come it has to be so
secret? Why would Suga do something like that? Why was he at the hospital? What
the hell is going on?” The libero’s jaw is clenched tight, eyes burning despite
tears starting to form there. His agitation bleeds into the air like a
poisonous fog, putting the rest of them even more on edge.
“Nishinoya, calm down,” Ukai says. “I’m going to tell you as much as I can.
It’s just that it’s a sensitive topic, so again, I need your discretion.”
“Noya, sit down,” Asahi whispers. His gentle command is met by Noya’s
compliance despite a barely concealed wariness, the libero sprawling into the
space between him and Tanaka. Asahi exhales heavily.
“The reason Sugawara was at the hospital was because, yesterday, he was
attacked.” Coach Ukai breathes, gathering his bearings, while everyone starts
to question all at once.
“Attacked?”
“By who?”
“What happened?”
“Was it a robbery?”
“He was raped,” Ukai says suddenly, in the midst of the voices. “Sugawara was
sexually assaulted.”
It’s like an electric shock spikes through the airwaves, because the team
pauses, surprise and confusion affecting their posture and expressions. For
now, the disbelief masks the hurt and they don’t feel the full extent of the
pain just yet, though the echoes of it are starting to form inside.
Ukai keeps going, pretending he doesn’t notice his stunned audience. “We don’t
know who the perpetrator is. We just know that he has a car and Sugawara likely
came across him on his way home from school. So, I’m asking you all to be
vigilant and report any suspicious activity to the school or authorities.”
There’s a mixture of horror and shock painted across the sea of faces around
him.
“R-rape?” someone whispers like it’s a curse word.
Noya’s fists ball again and his face scrunches up. “Who would—Why would
somebody—?” He can barely get the words out, voice strangled with rage. “I’m
going to—I swear, when I find out who did this, I’m going to kill them.”
“We should be thinking about Suga-san, not about ‘killing’ anybody,” Ennoshita
says.
“Me too,” Tanaka says, speaking over him. “I’m going to kill him.”
Noya nods stonily. “Let him come after me. It’ll be his mistake.”
“Guys, don’t talk like that,” Asahi adds, jumping into the fray. He should have
expected the second years to react like this. People of action, of course their
first instinct would be to want to fight back, even if they don’t know who they
should be fighting. He doesn’t like hearing them talking about killing someone,
even if they aren’t serious about—not after hearing Suga brush with death.
“Don’t think about doing anything stupid,” Ukai growls, glaring and angry.
“This is not something to be talked about so lightly. This person is very
dangerous. Your teammate is in the hospital.”
Asahi flinches at his tone. Cowed by the coach’s words, they all fall silent.
The person who hurt Suga is very dangerous. If the libero saw Suga’s condition
last night, heard the way his voice faded in and out or the sobs through the
phone, he wouldn’t say ‘let him come after me.’ The thought of anything
happening to Noya or his other teammates is chilling. It’s paralyzing.
“What are we going to do? Suga-san wanted to die.” Hinata breaks the silence.
“And now we can’t even talk to him, to tell him how much we need him and care
about him and-and...”
“Hinata,” Yamaguchi starts, obviously at a loss as to what to say, looking
almost as distraught as the boy he’s trying to comfort. He reaches out to pat
Hinata gently on the back while the smaller boy, face wet and red and crumpled,
continues to cling to Kageyama. Yamaguchi leans closer, glancing back at
Tsukishima momentarily as he mumbles, “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
“Shouyou, Yamaguchi’s right,” Noya says.
“I don’t want him to die,” Hinata cries as Kageyama tries and fails to detach
the spiker from his arm.
“Shut up, dumbass. He’s going to be fine,” the setter says sounding so sure of
himself that Asahi almost believes him, until he looks up at them all and asks,
“Right?”
His question is met by sighs and unsure coughs. Sadness hangs in the air, all
of them aware of how helpless they are in this situation. Suga’s in a coma.
They don’t know if things are going to be all right.
“Suga-san, what were you thinking?” Tanaka mutters.
“We can go see him, right?” Yamaguchi asks. “After school today?”
Just then, the gym doors open and close, Asahi turns his head to see Daichi
standing barely inside threshold, having frozen at everyone’s gaze on him. He
looks like he hasn’t slept at all. Taking a visible breath, he approaches the
group, features fixed into a stoic expression, nervous, twitching fingers the
only thing betraying the calm exterior.
“Daichi-san!” Hinata squeals, shooting up and throwing his arms around the
captain’s waist. Daichi releases a surprised breath, and then the entire team
is on their feet and surrounding him, asking questions, gazes confused and
searching. The atmosphere feels both chaotic and calm now that their captain
has arrived. Daichi pats the little spiker’s head absentmindedly while trying
to respond to the team’s countless questions.
“What’s going to happen now?” someone asks.
They still. And wait. Daichi straightens himself up to his full height,
squaring his shoulders and looking each individual member in the eye. Asahi can
tell that he’s rearing to say something significant. It may be an act, but it’s
a damn good one, and everyone just wants to believe in something right now.
Everyone just wants to feel comforted.
“We’re going to get through this, all of us. Suga may be in a coma, but he’s in
the hospital and he’s being taken care of. We just have to be patient and wait
until he gets better. And when he wakes up, we need to be there for him.” The
team hangs onto every word. Daichi’s voice is strong and clear. “That doesn’t
mean asking him a million questions or telling him what you think he should do.
Just be supportive. Be kind.
“I’ve talked to Takeda-sensei,” Daichi announces just as the man in question
enters the gym, “and we’ve decided it’s best to avoid being out during dark
hours as much as we can, which means no extra practice in the evenings and no
morning practice for the time being. We’ll take today after school off too.”
“That’s for the best,” Ukai chimes in when the captain catches his eye.
The team accepts this with glum faces. Daichi detaches himself from Hinata. “I
think that’s it,” the captain says, looking between Takeda and Ukai. “Wait. The
Nekoma match—what do you think of postponing it? We won’t be practicing much
next week, and without—”
He stops suddenly. He still looks stoic but they all know how much it hurts to
think about Suga’s absence. No one opposes postponing the match.
“We can make arrangements.”
“You guys can get the equipment now,” Daichi says with a clap.
The crowd disperses, a few guys putting their heads together to speak in low
voices, but, surprisingly, Tsukishima stays behind. Too curious, Asahi watches
out of the corner of his eye as the blonde grabs Hinata by the sleeve and drags
him back to Daichi. Even though he’s too far away to hear what’s being said,
the facial expressions of the group seem tense. Daichi’s eyebrows jump at what
Tsukishima says, and then the captain sighs and replies tiredly. Tsukishima
doesn’t seem convinced and turns to the smaller middle blocker expectantly.
Shaking his head nervously as he speaks, Hinata appears only to irritate the
blonde.
Asahi watches Tsukishima pull Hinata away, an interesting look passing between
them and the other first years. Confusion and curiosity get the best of the ace
and he approaches Daichi.
“What was that about?” Asahi asks.
“They overheard a part of the fight I had with Suga on Monday. They know he was
being threatened and they were questioning me about it.” Daichi blows out a
huge breath and runs both hands through his hair, gaze unfocused. “I don’t know
what to do,” he mumbles, looking incredibly lost. “Do I keep his secrets? It’s
not like he’s dead. If he wakes up tomorrow and finds out I told everyone
everything… But am I doing any good by not saying anything? Or do I owe him
this much?”
“Oh.” Asahi ponders this. What a difficult situation to find yourself in. What
would he do if it were his choice? 
“I have to tell his parents though. I don’t think it’s going to change much if
they know the truth, but they deserve to know. He can’t be mad at me for that,
right?”
“But you lied to Tsukishima and Hinata just now?”
Daichi clears his throat, mouth wobbling. It looks as if he’s putting so much
effort into not crying, which makes Asahi more worried than if he had cried.
The captain angles his body so that the rest of the team can’t see his face as
he admits, “I don’t want them to hate me. I’m scared they’ll blame because I
knew all this time the danger Suga was in and I didn’t stop it.”
Asahi puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “They won’t hate you,” he says
reassuringly. “They can’t hate you for that.”
“Thanks, Asahi.”
                                      ***
Tsukishima isn’t prepared for the sight of Suga lying in the hospital bed. He’s
shocked at the extent of the setter’s injuries. He hovers near the back of the
team, who have all stuffed themselves into the hospital room and are taking
turns at Sugawara’s bedside. Seeing the second years crying today feels
different from all the other times he’s seen them shed tears. He thinks that if
Sugawara-san were here—really here—then he would be able to say something to
comfort them. Like, if it were anyone else in that hospital bed, things
wouldn’t be so—Tsukishima peers around at the wet and broken faces.
The blonde looks down at his interlocked fingers.
Things wouldn’t be so depressing.
Daichi isn’t here either. He said he would wait until they were finished. Even
though he had projected such a calm, collected aura when he’d spoken to the
team at morning practice—even though he had promised that they would get
through this together—he’s choosing to struggle alone. It started to become
evident when Daichi denied knowing anything more about the person threatening
Sugawara, which was an obvious lie. He’s trying to figure this all out on his
own. Whether it’s to keep us safe or some strange sense of pride, the captain
intends to pursue this without telling us all the facts.
I mean, it’s his business if that’s what he wants to do, but—
“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says quietly, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s your turn if
you want to go.”
Not really. Instead he nods and walks up to Sugawara’s bedside, not sure why he
feels so uneasy. It’s true that he feels a little uncomfortable standing in
this room because it seems invasive watching someone sleeping. Oddly intimate,
but given the circumstances, more sad. It’s weird, but that’s not the only
source of his discomfort.
Suga would look peaceful if it weren’t for the bruises.
We don’t talk much, but I think it’s really messed up that you had to go
through something so terrible. I’m sorry. When you wake up, we all promised to
be here for you, but if you wait too long, Daichi’s gonna have an aneurysm.
“I’ll be going ahead,” he says on his way to the door. Ennoshita and Asahi call
out quiet goodbyes to him. He’s halfway down the main hallway when he hears
running footsteps and Yamaguchi’s call for him to wait up. He slows his pace
slightly.
“No one should really be walking home alone right now,” Yamaguchi says,
catching his breath and falling into pace beside Tsukishima. “It’s not safe.”
I knew you’d come after me, is the first thought that passes through his mind.
He shrugs and sticks his hands in his pockets, replying, “Do you plan on
walking me all the way to my door?”
“That’s not what I meant.” His friend is about to say something more when
Tsukishima stops suddenly in his tracks. Yamaguchi bumps into him, scrambling
to say, “Sorry, Tsukki,” before following his line of sight.
Their captain is biting his knuckles, staring, but clearly not seeing anything
beyond the window he’s standing at. He’s hunched forward, whole body tense.
Sweat beads on his forehead. Bags underneath his eyes are pronounced even from
this distance.
And he professed to being fine? “I’m fine. You go on ahead. I’ll wait until the
crowd thins a bit,” he had said, and then he had laughed.
How long after they left did it take for him to revert to this state?
Tsukishima tsks. “He really should just stop pretending,” he mutters, tone more
annoyed than he intended.
“Are you worried about him, Tsukki?”
The middle blocker bristles and starts off again, freckled friend at his heels.
“No,” Tsukishima replies, looking straight ahead. “It’s just he’s not fooling
anyone.”
                                      ***
The waiting room chairs are all empty except for his. There’s a receptionist
clicking away at her keyboard, who glances up at him occasionally. He’s been
trying to hold it together in front of the team. If he’s their strength, then
they can break down however they need to because they know that someone’s
there. Inside, he’s kind of a mess, but as long as he can be honest when he’s
alone, then that’s enough. He’s used to pretending anyways.
Unable to sit any longer, he paces over to a window. He already decided that
he’s going to tell Suga’s parents about there being a first time, but now that
he’s here his nerves are nearly unbearable. What if he just makes them feel
worse? Daichi waits for who knows how long, worrying over Suga’s parents’
reactions and trying not to see his friend when he closes his eyes. He stares
just to keep from blinking.
Coma. It doesn’t seem real. It doesn’t seem possible.
“Daichi,” Asahi says, stepping up beside him. The captain nearly jumps, having
missed the sound of his approach, so caught up in his own head. “The others are
all gone. You should go in now.”
“Right,” he replies, nodding to himself and biting back all of his doubts. He’s
not sure how long it’s been since they arrived—a half hour, forty minutes?
“It’s going to be fine,” Asahi assures him with a small smile. “You have a ride
home, right?”
Nodding again, he takes a deep breath and makes his way toward Suga’s room. He
hesitates before going in.
The moment he enters, he falters. Coma. It’s real. It’s too real. Suga, there,
silent, motionless. His parents bathed in exhaustion. Suga, attempted suicide.
Suga, rape. Suga, bulimia. Suga, coma. Suga, Suga, Suga, Suga, why?
Why?
Why do things have to be like this? 
All of his doubts and fears come rushing back. He wants to go back. He’s not
ready to see Suga. He’s not ready to face Suga’s parents. He didn’t protect
Suga like he said he was going to. What if Suga really does die? It’s so loud
and chaotic in his head. The guilt he’s been trying to push into the background
since this morning—no, since yesterday’s call—explodes through his body, making
him feel scared and weak.
He drops to his knees and presses his forehead to the floor, something he’s
seen people do but never had to perform himself.
“I’m sorry!” he announces, feeling his breath bounce back at him. “This isn’t
the first time this has happened.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Suga’s mom says sympathetically.
“Yeah,” his father agrees. “Stand up and we’ll talk about whatever you want to
talk about.”
“No!” Daichi cries. Now that he’s in this position, he’ll see it through. “I
have to do this. Because I knew! He told me a week ago that someone had raped
him and I told him that I’d be there with him. I told him I’d protect him! And
I didn’t! We had a stupid fight and I wasn’t there when he needed me, and I
knew. I knew something could happen and I still wasn’t there! I didn’t get
there in time! And if he’s not here because of something I did or said or
didn’t do or didn’t say, I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!
Please tell me what to do to make this up!”
The tiled floor is wet beneath his eyeline and his face is hot. I said it. He
feels slightly redeemed for his earlier lie to Tsukishima and Hinata. He hopes
that Asahi was right about them not hating him and that the statement doesn’t
just apply to their kouhai. His fingers tremble as he tries to stem the flow of
water from his eyes.
“Daichi,” Suga’s mom says, crouching down, voice so soft and sympathetic that
it brings forth more tears. “Daichi, you can blame yourself for not getting
there in time. My husband can blame himself for being too insensitive. I can
blame myself for falling asleep. We can blame the hospital for not checking in
on him more often.” She lifts his tear-stained face to look at her in the eye.
“We can blame everyone and everything, but that doesn’t change the fact that
Koushi isn’t present here with us. It doesn’t help anyone, and holding onto
that anger and guilt is what, I think, ended up hurting Koushi.”
That sounds true. Suga wouldn’t let anyone tell him it wasn’t his fault. Still,
it hurts so much. He wishes Suga were here. His silent tears turn into sobs
that he can’t control.
“You need to let it go,” she says, hugging him firmly. “Instead of thinking
about what you couldn’t do before, focus on what you can do now.”
It’s so warm he doesn’t want to move. If he could stay like this forever,
wrapped in understanding arms, then maybe he could heal completely. Damn. If
Suga had just—no, his mom said to stop obsessing over the past. Stop with the
‘what ifs.’Daichi sniffles and sits back on his heels, wiping his face on his
sleeve.
“Come on now, please stand up,” Suga’s mom says lightly, wiping at her own
eyes. “If I have to see one more man drop into dogeza today, I don’t know what
I’ll do.” She elbows her husband, who looks away bashfully.
Daichi straightens, feeling so much lighter than he had upon entering the room,
and makes his way to Suga’s bedside. He’s glad the team didn’t see him like
this, but it felt good to just cry and be held. Taking the setter’s hand and
trying not to wince at the bandages wrapping his forearms, Daichi ponders
Sugawara-san’s words again. Focus on what you can do now. His teammates had
asked him the question, “What’s going to happen now?”
What can I do?
Suga looks like he’s simply sleeping. He’s going to wake up. He will. And when
he does, he’ll need support—like I told the team—so I have to figure out the
best way to do that. I don’t really understand everything he went through or
how to help or what to say or when it’s too much… There are people that
specialize in helping people through trauma, though, and I want to be able to
help too.
I can learn how to help too.
“Suga,” Daichi says, wrapping his other hand around the setter’s. “We’re all
waiting here for you.”
Chapter End Notes
     -It's hard writing a bunch of people in one scene
     -Next chapter will have more team stuff (hopefully written better),
     Daichi trying to keep his shit together, and a scene I've had written
     on a note on my phone since November...
***** November *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Sunday morning is cold and gray but oddly refreshing after spending the
entirety of yesterday closed up in his room alone. The walk up to the station
is quiet, but once he’s closer, the hum of conversation and screeching brakes
become more prominent. Weaving through people, he strides down the platform
thinking about the research he did Saturday. He traveled from link to link,
from one online resource to another, unfortunately only very few devoted to
male survivors. It was kind of disheartening. He still wants to talk to a
professional in person, though finding the time—with school and practice and
visiting Suga and homework—will be difficult.
As a rush of air from an incoming train blasts around him, he spots the team
standing together a little further down the platform. Tanaka waves him over.
Winding his way toward them, Daichi considers how Suga’s dad invited them all
here, paying for their tickets beforehand, happy for company on his previous
solitary trip. From here, they’ll travel to Sendai, to the Toshogu Shrine.
When he’s in their midst, several people clap him on the back. “Am I the last
one?” Daichi asks, peering around to see who’s missing. He sees a mixture of
smiling and grim faces. It’s strange, meeting them all here like this on a
weekend and volleyball not be the subject.
“Tsukishima and Yamaguchi aren’t here yet,” Ennoshita replies.
Daichi catches Suga’s dad’s eye and nods in greeting. “Good morning, sir,” he
says slowly, unable to get the thought of Friday out of his head, how he broke
down in front of Suga’s parents. Ahh. So embarrassing. I think I had snot on my
face and everything.
The man replies with a friendly “good morning,” nothing in his expression to
show that he thinks anything of Friday’s happenings. He reaches out his hand to
shake and Daichi grabs it, grateful that it’s not something to be addressed. Of
course it wouldn’t be on the other man’s mind.
“Where are those bastards?” Tanaka grumbles. “They’re late.”
“They did say they were coming right?”
“Yeah. That’s what they said.”
Daichi finds himself craning his neck along with his teammates, crowd thicker
than it had been when he first arrived even though it was only minutes ago.
Tsukishima should be easy to spot because of his height, and where the blonde
middle blocker is, Yamaguchi can’t be far behind. A burst of air roars down the
platform again, blowing hair off their foreheads and making them squint.
“This is our train,” Asahi says as it comes to a stop. The squeal of brakes
give way to beeping as the doors open. They’re not going to make it, Daichi
thinks, sure that everyone else is thinking it too.
Kageyama says suddenly, “There they are.”
Everyone’s heads swivel to where the boy is pointing, people flowing out of the
doors around them. The two first years can be spotted, about twenty meters
away, looking out of breath and lost. Yamaguchi at least looks out of breath.
Tsukishima is sporting his usual bored expression as he searches the crowd
lazily.
“Over here!” Hinata calls, hands cupping his mouth. “Yamaguchi! Tsukishima!”
Somehow, Hinata is heard through the throng, and then the whole team is
assembled in just enough time to board. Half of the team are left standing as
the train pulls away.
“Sorry, sorry, everybody,” Yamaguchi says, grabbing the back of his neck with
his free hand and bowing his head. “I overslept.”
“You almost missed the train,” Noya says, elbowing the pair.
Yamaguchi apologizes again while Tsukishima adjusts his headphones and directs
his gaze to the window. After a short, they trudge toward the station’s exit,
squinting their eyes against the sun now breaking through the clouds. The group
is reserved, energy from earlier diminished.
“It means so much to me that you all could be here,” Suga’s dad says, leading
the group through the particularly dense crowd outside of the station.
“It’s nothing, Sugawara-san,” Tanaka says with only half of his usual boldness,
the others nodding with varying degrees of vigor.
A few minutes later, they reach the stairs leading up to the shrine’s main
building. Trees line the pathway all the way up, sunlight reflecting in the
sparse brown and golden leaves clinging desperately to the branches, wind
blowing a few free. Gray exists in the edges of the sky as watered-down ink, a
monochromatic blur pushed aside by the sun. Daichi blinks up at the aura around
the sun. To think, a week ago today Asahi, Suga, and Daichi were visiting the
planetarium and playing with a volleyball in Suga’s backyard. It seems like a
lifetime ago.
“I used to come here on the weekends a long time ago,” Suga’s dad muses
pensively, climbing the stairs with a small smile. “It was the first place to
pop into my head.”
“It’s a beautiful place,” Yamaguchi says, peering around.
“Peaceful,” Tanaka adds.
“Right?” Noya asks.
The buildings they pass hold an air of knowledge, the weathered wood and
chipping paint proof of all the years and all of the stories they’ve been
witness to. Quietness settles over the team as they line up, putting their
hands together and closing their eyes. Daichi stands between Suga’s dad and
Asahi.
He breathes deeply through his nose.
Please, help Suga. Help him wake up from his coma. He doesn’t deserve any of
what he got, and it’s happened already so that can’t be changed, but if he can
realize it wasn’t his fault…if Suga can start to heal… I just want him to be
happy.
Me too. Daichi’s not sure if it’s arrogant or self-centered, praying for
himself, but he does so, feeling like he’s whispering in his mind.I want to be
happy. And I want to be stronger. Don’t let me disappoint Suga, or the team, or
my parents.
And please…
Please, let him wake up.
When he opens his eyes, everyone is staring in his direction. He’s about to ask
them what they’re all staring at when he catches sight of Suga’s dad out of the
corner of his eye. The man is crying silently, gripping the bar in front of him
and whispering under his breath. For a moment, Daichi’s stuck between wanting
to reach out and wanting to give him some privacy. Not wanting to overstep his
bounds, he gathers the team and starts shepherding them away. They amble down
the path in silence, Ennoshita in the lead, Daichi and Asahi bringing up the
rear.
“What—” Hinata hesitates, voice soft, and then asks from the middle of their
group, “What do you think Suga was thinking?”
No one asks, “when,” because they know just by the tone of the spiker’s voice.
What was Suga thinking? Why did he do it? Daichi’s throat gets tight
remembering the phone call with Suga that night, remembering the sight of him
on that mountain, or the look in his eyes during that last conversation he’d
had with him in the hospital. Suga had told him what a great friend he was, and
something else strange, which should have tipped Daichi off, but in the end, he
just couldn’t know.
What was Suga thinking?
“He was obviously really sad,” Tanaka says like it’s a no-brainer.
“Sad, yeah, but maybe angry too?” Noya ventures.
“To have that happen, I can’t imagine,” Narita whispers, barely audibly.
“I think he was afraid,” Asahi says gently.
The captain can’t see their faces as they speak. Part of him is okay with
staying silent—the part that can’t shake the image of a hurt and cold Suga from
his mind—feels compelled to say something. Staring out into the trees, Daichi
mumbles, “Guilty.”
The team stops their quiet speculating. “Huh?” someone asks. Ennoshita and
Noya, who have already reached the steps, stop halfway down and look back.
“Suga felt really guilty about it all,” Daichi clarifies.
There’s a minute of silence in which the team looks like they’re swallowing
something toxic and Daichi wonders whether maybe he shouldn’t have said
anything after all. He’s sure that what he said about Suga is true,
unfortunately.
“But it wasn’t his fault at all,” Hinata bursts, looking confused.
“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Yamaguchi agrees.
These guys are so sympathetic and kind. When Suga wakes up he’ll have a whole
slew of people who support and care about him. Daichi smiles. “I know. Believe
me, I’ve tried to tell him.”
“He’s always so hard on himself,” Noya sighs.
“Come on guys,” Tanaka says, trying to rally them. He spreads out his arms
wide, and everyone can see how much effort is going into his optimism. “Suga
wouldn’t want us to be all sad right now. He would want us to—”
“He’s not dead,” Noya cuts in indignantly.
“I know that,” Tanaka replies.
“Well, you’re talking like he is.” They start arguing between themselves, and
Daichi rears up to say something but Ennoshita beats him to it, pulling the two
apart while he chides them. Yes, he’ll make a great captain, Daichi thinks as
he walks past them relieved.
Suga’s dad joins their midst just as the team mill around at the bottom of the
stairs.
“Thank you for coming,” Suga’s dad says, when he returns. Despite his haggard
look and red eyes, he smiles a broad smile. “All of you are such wonderful
young men, and I’m glad my son has such friends. I actually have a few errands
to run here, but I’ll see you off to the station.”
“There are a few things I need to do too, guys,” Tanaka pipes up. “Noya-san,
you want to come? Saeko wanted me to—”
“Something for Nee-san? Of course,” Noya butts in. “Let’s go.”
“Can I come?” asks Ennoshita. Al of the second years start talking and planning
where they’re going like it were any other day trip, nodding and pointing off
into the distance.
Hinata and Kageyama put their heads together, the spiker talking quietly as he
pulls a volleyball from his bag with a grin. Kageyama says something about
there being a park around somewhere and they both nod seriously and tell the
captain their intentions as they run off. No one can say anything in response
and Daichi watches them go, bemused, wondering how many hours of the day they
spend thinking about volleyball.
What’s left of the team glance at each other. Yamaguchi smiles and says, “I
think Tsukki and I are going back.”
“Asahi-san!” Noya calls as the second years starts to leave. The ace looks
between them and Daichi, conflicted.
“I’m going to go back with Tsukishima and Yamaguchi,” Daichi says before Asahi
can say anything. Don’t worry about me.
He walks to the station with the first years. Once they’re on the train the
blonde pushes his earphones over his ears and proceeds to close his eyes, so on
the ride back, Daichi and Yamaguchi talk, a little awkward at first because
they’ve never talked at length before. They soon settle into a comfortable
conversation, and as they exit the station onto familiar streets, Daichi’s glad
he’s had this time to get to know one of his teammates a little better.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Daichi waves as they part ways. “Remember, no morning
practice.”
                                      ***
It becomes a routine. After practice, Daichi changes quickly and rides with
Asahi to the hospital. Asahi only comes in for a short period, just long enough
to find out Suga’s condition and say a short hello. It’s difficult seeing Suga
like that day in and day out, so Daichi understands Asahi’s reservations.
Suga’s hospital room becomes as familiar to him as his own bedroom. He brings
his homework and stays until visiting hours end, and by that time Suga’s dad
has gotten off of work and drives him home. Suga’s mom is working more than
before, so she isn’t there much, but sometimes members of the team stop by.
Daichi’s even met a couple of Suga’s distant relatives.
At home, he can feel his mother’s eyes following him the moment he walks
through the front door until he closes himself in his bedroom. He thinks Suga’s
parents talked to his parents—that’s what Suga’s dad implied—but it may have
made the situation worse. Neither of his parents have directly questioned him
about his friend, but the atmosphere is often strained when he’s around and
their irritation is palpable.
Most evenings, he’s alone with Suga. At those times, the captain talks out loud
to himself while doing homework or when thinking about team strategy.
Sometimes—when he’s particularly exhausted—he pulls his chair right up to
Suga’s bed and rests his head on the edge. He watches the setter’s face, hoping
that he’ll see an eye open or finger twitch. Sometimes he believes he can will
it to happen if he focuses hard enough.
Suga’s body healed quickly. The doctors say he could wake up any time.
He hasn’t woken up. He hasn’t batted an eyelash.
So, for two weeks Daichi follows the same routine.
                                      ***
After hearing that it is supposed to rain tonight, Daichi goes back for his
umbrella before heading to the hospital. The last thing he needs is to get
sick, and then he can’t participate in club or visit Suga.
He finds the umbrella easily, not far underneath his bed, so he trudges down
the stairs, bag bouncing on his shoulder. Out of nowhere, his father grabs his
arm before he can leave through the front door. Daichi flinches, before he
realizes who’s got ahold of him. Breathing deeply, he holds onto all the calm
he has left. He’s itching to break free of his father’s grasp and deal with the
consequences later, his temper having been short lately. The day has already
been long and trying, both Hayami-sensei and Nakamura-sensei surprising the
class with brutal pop quizzes he’s sure he failed. Slowly, he turns to face his
father who’s at eye level.
“Daichi, where are you going now?” his dad asks vehemently. “I wouldn’t bother
you if I knew you were going to study or even if it was for your club, but if
you’re just going to sit in that hospital room again…” His father is pretending
to be calm, but the tightness of his grip says otherwise. “You’re not
accomplishing anything. He’s comatose; he can’t tell if you’ve been there are
not. And, frankly, I think it’s irresponsible of his parents to allow you there
so often. You’re nearing the end of your third year. This is a crucial time for
you.”
Daichi’s face heats with indignation. The way his father uses the word
‘accomplishing’ makes it sound like there has to be something for him to gain
from visiting his friend in the hospital. Daichi knows that his dad is not
simply concerned with his studies. It has more to do with the circumstances of
Suga’s hospitalization, but the man won’t bring it up when he thinks he can
still control Daichi by playing the worried father. 
“For the time being, you should stop going there,” he says.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Daichi pulls his arm back carefully and
wracks his brain for a response. He brings a hand up to his forehead, movements
slow, trying to keep this false calm they’ve established, the layer of
pristine-looking ice that was constructed between them years ago. Always at
odds, they glossed over their disagreements, hardened their hearts, and kept a
certain distance so as to ignore the fact that it was always cold.
“I can’t just not visit him, Dad,” Daichi says eventually. The ice cracks into
a hundred little fissures beneath his feet.
His father heaves in a heavy sigh. “You can and you will. Your future is on the
line here. Why can’t you see that?”
“That doesn’t make sense! What does it have to do with visiting—”
“You’re neglecting your schoolwork!” his dad snaps after almost two weeks of
quiet mutterings and disapproving glances.
“So, you’d rather I neglected my friend?” Daichi shouts right back. All of his
anger is bubbling to the surface, clouding his judgement as he meets his
father’s dark glare. He’s getting his fucking homework done, so why can’t he
just go visit his friend? He about to say something—perhaps what he’s
thinking—but he’s cut off before he can even open his mouth.
“You mean that boy who let himself be raped and then failed at suicide? If
those kinds of people are your friends, Daichi—”
Daichi snaps mid breath. Before he realizes what he’s doing, his fist is
slamming into his father’s jaw. His peripheral darkens and all he can make out
is the angry disbelief painted across the other man’s face. Oh shit. Oh shit.
Shit. Did he just…
His dad swears and hits him back with enough force to send him stumbling over
the end table and onto the floor. Daichi blinks dazedly, chest rising and
falling quickly. He feels like he’s burning from the inside out. Sitting up, he
eyes his father who stands above him shouting and swinging his arms around in
emphasis, red-faced and spitting, but Daichi can’t hear any of it. His other
senses are hyperaware of his surroundings. He can feel the part of his face
that will bruise. He can feel the tingle of agitation ripple across every inch
of his skin. He feels a fire sending his bones up in flames. He can smell the
rain through the open door and it already feels like a reprieve from this heat.
He can see the veins popping out in his father’s neck.
Teeth clenched, Daichi stands, dusting himself off, leaving, his top priority.
Eyes glued to the floor, he shoulders his way past his dad who’s still fuming
and into the downpour outside. Leaving behind his umbrella and bag, the water
plasters his hair to his face and soaks his clothes so that the heavy material
sticks to him as he walks.
Daichi doesn’t really remember hitting his father. It happened so quick; he
didn’t think about it. He was just—is just—so unbelievably angry that his dad
could say something so shitty.
“Let himself be raped.” What a load of crap. What utter bullshit.
He’s seen variations of this same shit when researching—male victims who’ve
spoken up being met with pushback—things like: ‘does that even happen to men?
Why didn’t you fight back? Are you sure you’re not just gay?’ As if anyone
would ask for that. As if anyone’s sexuality has anything to do with consent.
His chest feels tight and it’s hard to breathe. The coldness of the rain feels
nice on his burning skin though, and it slowly brings his mind back to the
present. I need to calm down. Stopping in his tracks, he relaxes his fists.
Calm down.
It’s a while until he finds his way back to a street he knows, having walked
around aimlessly, but it’s the perfect length of time to clear his head. He
distracts himself with thoughts of his future, which otherwise would be far
more daunting than it is now. There are a few universities he’s been thinking
about applying to—but overall, he’s still undecided about what he wants to do.
It’s not as stressful thinking about where he’s going to end up.
By the time he reaches the hospital, he’s thoroughly drenched, but the anger
has left his system and a calmness has replaced it. The nurse who attends to
Suga winces when she sees Daichi dripping wet, and rushes to get him a few
towels. Daichi takes them gratefully.
Sighing heavily, the captain pats himself down the best he can and repositions
himself on the chair at Suga’s bedside. His heart beats heavily as he bites
down on the inside of his cheek, reaching out for Suga’s hand. He squeezes, but
the setter doesn’t squeeze back, and he’s done this so many times and not taken
it personally. Yet today, the unmoving hand hurts enough to beckon the words
nestled deep in his chest.
Daichi squeezes tighter with both hands, a desperate feeling welling up with
the words so that when he does speak, he’s breathless. “I know you feel like so
many things ended when he did those things to you,” Daichi says, on the verge
of tears. He wishes Suga could hear him. It’s been two weeks and no one has any
idea of when he’s going to wake up.
A few days ago, Asahi pulled him aside during lunch and told him that everyone
was worried that he was trying to do too much. Here Daichi thought he was doing
a good job pretending to be okay, which wasn’t the case. He’d thought a lot
about what was best for the others and what was best for himself, but honestly,
he’s still having trouble reconciling them. Two weeks they’ve all been living
with this weight hanging over them with no end in sight.
“I know you feel like he stole your body and your past self and your future.
And I don’t know how to fix that. I don’t know if it can be fixed. I just…”
Daichi pauses, collects his breath, and then bursts, “I just know that I love
you, Suga. I’m in love with you. I love you so much that I don’t know what I’m
doing this all for without you—I’m so lost when you’re not here. And other
people may think it’s crazy or gross or weird that I care about you like this,
or I’m too young to know about love, or driven by hormones and impulse, but
fuck, I love you like crazy, Suga. I love you.”
Daichi waits for any glimpse of movement from the boy with silver hair—a
twitching eyelid or trembling lip, anything to show that he was heard. There’s
nothing, and that just fuels Daichi’s desperation.
“I need you to wake up so I can tell you,” he all but begs. “Because you know
what? Your parents love you, and your friends on the team—and that’s something
he can never take from you. There will always be people who love you. No matter
what.”
There. I said it.
“Daichi!” a voice suddenly cries from behind, causing the boy to jump into a
standing position. Suga’s mom—teary-eyed but smiling—rushes him.
“That was beautiful,” the woman says, holding him tightly.
“You heard—!” Daichi splutters, mind racing to find a way to gloss this over.
He must have left the door open and now they’ve heard everything and Daichi
can’t find words now. “Uh.”
“We support you of course,” Suga’s dad chimes in, joining the hug merrily.
Daichi can’t process this. This joy, this happiness so contradictory to what he
expected. Confused, he thinks that this could be some sort of trick or trap.
Everything is happening so fast that he can’t figure out how much of this is
real and how much of this is just wishful thinking.
“As a mother, to hear that someone loves my son so genuinely is a wonderful
thing.” Her voice is warm and almost achingly sincere.
“I can’t think of anyone better suited to be a son-in-law,” Suga’s dad says.
Son-in-law? Wait a minute. There’s no—he and Suga haven’t even talked—he…
Daichi’s face reddens as the hug breaks up.
“Were you out in the rain without an umbrella?”
Daichi suddenly remembers the dampness of his clothes as he meets the parents’
eyes guiltily.
“Daichi, what happened to your face?” Suga’s mom asks, worry creasing her brow
as she scans the rest of him for injuries.
For some reason, the teen fakes a smile and shakes his head briskly. “It’s
nothing, really.”I don’t want to tell them I guess. What would they think?
“You expect me to leave it at that after what happened to Koushi?” his mom asks
sternly. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if you were in danger too.”
Daichi sobers quickly. Of course she’s worried and of course she thinks this
has something to do with Suga’s rape, that possibly the same person who hurt
her son has now hurt Daichi. He feels bad for making her worry for even a
millisecond.
“My dad and I kind of got into it,” Daichi says as nonchalantly as he can.
Suga’s dad hmms, crosses his arms, and eventually says, “If you ever feel like
you maybe want some space from all of that, you’re more than welcome to come
over for dinner. You can stay as long as you like.”
‘All of that?’ Daichi doesn’t know what to make of the man’s tone or words
until he realizes how he must have looked with a bruised face and glum
expression. The man probably thinks that Daichi’s dad beats him or something.
‘All of that.’ Daichi hurries to backtrack.
“It was just a one-time thing,” Daichi says, again as if he’s completely
unfazed. He pushes down the flash of anger he had felt in that moment and
breathes. I’m saying it’s nothing, so it’s nothing. “I threw the first punch,
so it’s totally my fault.”
“The offer stands regardless.”
Daichi nods somewhat awkwardly. He still thinks my dad makes a habit of hitting
me. I guess this is payback for my questioning Suga about his dad.
“I’m so glad Koushi has someone like you looking after him,” Suga’s mom says,
breaking the silence and changing the subject back. “Does he know how you
feel?”
“Uh,” Daichi starts, embarrassed to be talking about this with Suga’s parents
of all people. He and Suga haven’t even properly spoken about their feelings.
Everything’s a mess, which doesn’t even take into account what Suga’s been
through. “Kind of? He knows some of it.” After a minute of trying to think of
how to explain it, he finally says, “It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t love always?” Suga’s dad muses.
His wife smiles fondly and says, “This guy here was my next-door neighbor and
kouhai in the biology club.”
The man laughs. “I had no interest in biology. I only joined because she was
there.”
“By the time he got around to confessing, I was already in a relationship,” she
says ruefully. “I rejected him of course, but he said he would wait for me and
that he wouldn’t ever stop loving me. I remember thinking, who does this brat
think he is? This first year is crazy.”
“Soon after, her boyfriend and her split, so I asked her out again.”
 “I refused him again, out of spite,” Suga’s mom says. “You see, I was
convinced that he had cursed my relationship because the timing was too
convenient. His family did own some strange sort of apothecary, so he could
have cast a spell on me or something.”
Daichi’s head turns from one to the other, interested in what the other will
say in response. He had sat back down earlier and now he’s leaning forward in
his seat.
“I did not, though I may have prayed every evening at the local shrine and went
to Toshogu on the weekends.”
“I ended up dating someone in my grade, and we ran away together, which was the
town scandal for a while apparently. It wasn’t until years later, when I
returned home after living on my own for a while, that I ran into this man
here. Everyone treated me like a pariah, but he was unconditionally kind.
Always. And it turned out he still had a thing for me, so I asked him out.”
Daichi is speechless. It’s definitely not a storybook romance and there’s no
major climatic revelation, but the way that Suga’s parents look at each other,
it’s evident that they never wanted anything along those lines. This makes
Daichi miss the almost-something that was between he and Suga, loneliness
tasting like blood dotted across his tongue.
“It may seem hopeless, or too complicated a path to navigate, but if it’s meant
to be, it’ll work out in the end,” Suga’s dad says softly, looking between
Daichi and Suga.
The atmosphere is calming as they let everything settle in. Daichi never
expected to be found out like this and he never expected such a positive,
welcoming reaction from others. They don’t care that he’s a guy. They didn’t
even blink. They didn’t mention it. He leans back in his chair and it’s no
surprise that his wandering gaze falls to rest on the setter in the end. He’s
sure that his own parents won’t be half as accepting, but perhaps he’s just
overreacting.
Maybe everything will work out in the end.
Suga’s mom moves—she leans against her son’s bed and lifts his hand into hers.
Daichi is still unnerved by how limp the setter’s arm is every time it’s
raised.
“I want my son to fall in love wholly,” the mother says softly. “It’s the
greatest thing. Yes, it can be complicated and messy even. It’s hard work,
letting yourself love, letting yourself be loved. This world doesn’t make it
easy, but the best things in life take the most effort.”
Suga.
I wish I could have said it when you could hear me.
I should have said it months ago.
I love you.
The three of them spend the next hour sitting by Suga’s bedside talking—to
Suga, to each other—and it’s nice, just being able to speak openly and not have
to hold back what he’s really feeling.
On his way home, it’s all he can think about. Suga. Suga’s parents. Falling in
love.
He feels weird.
He feels light.
The situation with Suga hasn’t really changed, but it feels different
nonetheless. 
                                      ***
“Do you think Koushi’s last message could be addressed to Daichi-chan?” Suga’s
mom asks once they’re home and sprawled out on the couch. Neither of them even
bothered to turn on any lights.
“Sawa…mura…” his dad pronounces slowly, but doesn’t say anything more.
The woman shifts into a more upright position. “If Koushi loved him too, that
blood message could have been directed at Daichi. Koushi didn’t address his
note to anyone. Maybe he regretted that and remembered something he wanted to
tell Daichi.”
“Or, do you think Sawamura could have been the one to hurt Koushi?”
Suga’s mom stares at her husband for a full thirty seconds before tilting her
head and saying, “You don’t believe that. If you suspected him the slightest
bit you would have never acted the way you did earlier.”
“How did I act?”
“Civil,” his wife responds immediately. “No, kind. You were worried about the
boy. You wouldn’t have been anything other than hostile if you thought he had
anything to do with it. The journalist side of you would have come out and you
would have interrogated him until he cried.”
“I don’t suspect him. I just wanted to see what you would say, and you sure
said a lot about me.” With that, the man sighs heavily and lays out across the
couch so that his head is resting in his wife’s lap.
“Should we tell him?” she asks.
“There’s really nothing to tell,” he replies. “And we could be wrong about it.
We don’t know what Koushi meant in writing that. It could have nothing to do
with Sawamura. What do the police say?”
Matching her husband’s sigh, the woman proceeds to run her hands through his
hair. “They say they don’t have enough to go on, and without an official
statement from Koushi, they can’t start any real investigation anyways. But
they were sure to remind me not to go investigating on my own. ‘Let’s not start
a witch hunt now,’ they said.”
Suga’s dad makes an annoyed sound and frowns. “They won’t do anything, but
don’t want us doing anything. Where’s the justice in that?”
“The police could be doing more, but they refuse. The way they look at me with
pity and—and this smug expression, like they’re just humoring me whenever I go
in… it’s infuriating.”
“You’re a better person than I am. I wouldn’t be able to hold my temper.”
“They don’t care about Koushi because he’s a boy, and they have all these ideas
about what a boy should be, and I can’t tell if they really don’t believe us or
they think that Koushi is less than, but…But if it were their son, what would
they do?”
“There’s got to be someone on the police force who will understand.”
Suga’s mom sniffles, causing her husband to open his eyes and sit up in alarm.
The woman starts crying in earnest, wiping at her eyes with the backs of her
hands.
“It’s all going to be okay,” he says rubbing circles on her back. “The doctors
are looking after Koushi, we’ll find someone on the police force who will
listen, and we’ll wait on telling Sawamura a bit longer. At least until after
his exams. We’re going to get through this. Okay?”
                                      ***
Before anyone can comprehend it, another two weeks pass, November gone and the
first week of December sliding away without notice. It’s been an entire month
since Suga first fell into a coma. Every day that passes is its own struggle.
There are so many little things that the setter did, that Daichi took for
granted. Suga always helped with volleyball strategy and helped keep everything
organized in his head. If Daichi dozed off in class, he could count on Suga to
have the notes he missed. If his parents were being overbearing, he could
always study over at the vice-captain’s house or together with him in the
library. Suga’s smile was the best stress reliever. 
Even though his mom had made both he and his father apologize, insincerity had
leaked from their lips and the tense atmosphere hasn’t lifted since that
evening, the false peace so flimsy it could shatter at any moment. For that
reason, he’s avoiding being home as much as possible, eating dinners off of
supermarket shelves or else spending the evenings at Suga’s house.
Suga’s dad is there more often than his mother because she’s been working
overtime to keep up with the medical bills. Suga’s dad never turns Daichi away,
or asks specifics about why the boy doesn’t eat at his own home, knowing
already that things are tense with his dad. And Suga’s dad always walks him
back to his house at night. After the fourth time, Daichi asks if the man will
give him cooking lessons. He’s been reminiscing a bunch, and thinking about
that weekend before it all went wrong. He hears Suga’s voice clearly in his
head—all the baking instructions and tips, and Suga’s assurance, “everyone in
this house cooks.” Daichi turned out to be truly terrible in the kitchen.
If he’s going to be in this house so often, then he’d better learn to cook.
Besides, it’d be cool to surprise Suga with his new skills. Daichi goes over
three times a week for lessons. He feels accomplished when the smells of
whatever they’re making fills up the kitchen, and even more so when his
finished product actually tastes good. At first, he was simply happy when his
cooking passed the threshold into ‘edible.’ Being in the kitchen, Daichi
realizes, is cathartic to him, much like volleyball is. Putting his energy into
this, creating something, feels a lot more positive than everything lately.
Occasionally, Suga’s mom is there to help. Other times, he finds himself at
Asahi’s or sometimes Tanaka’s. They play a round of cards or a round of video
games or bump a volleyball back and forth in the backyard. He doesn’t feel
alone like he had right after Suga went into a coma. Daichi knows he’s got
people he can confide in and rely on.
Even if things are strained with his parents and Suga’s in the hospital, Daichi
still feels like he has family.
Chapter End Notes
     -I have no idea what to say tbh, it's been so long, and yeah, a month
     passes in the story, and Daichi's a sap, and I don't want to talk
     about next chapter, and omg this chapter is finally done!!!
     P.S. I'M SO GRATEFUL TO EVERYONE WHO LEFT ENCOURAGING COMMENTS, OR
     ANY COMMENTS REALLY, AND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO'S STILL READING!
***** 'I'm Sorry' *****
Chapter Notes
     -I'm gonna break your hearts again, but alas, the scene is not
     explicit! At this point we all know what Nakamura's capable of. There
     are a few 1-2 line flashbacks, and it's just generally sad, so
     beware...
     TRIGGER WARNING: IMPLIED RAPE
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Yamaguchi blinks dazedly, the gym’s ceiling slowly coming into focus, ears
ringing. He’d taken a particularly strong spike from Asahi to the face after it
had ricocheted from Hinata’s arms. The spike was just as powerful as ever.
Wincing, he tries to sit up, face throbbing and nose wet.
“Someone help him to the nurse.”
“Waah, look at all that blood,” Hinata says with an outstretched hand. “I’m so
sorry!”
Kageyama glares at the redhead, muttering, “Your receives suck.”
“Hey, remember when you caused the vice-principal’s toupee to fly off, Hinata?”
Hinata reddens while Daichi gives Tanaka a warning look. Letting go of the
spiker’s hand, Yamaguchi attempts to take a wobbly step only to find that his
vision swims, balance off. He throws an arm out to Tsukki for support and the
blonde steadies him.
“Thanks, Tsukki,” he says, blinking and leaning on his tall friend.
Coach Ukai pushes a towel into his hand, telling him to hold it to his nose,
and with Tsukki’s help, he hobbles to the nurse’s office. Sitting down on one
of the beds, he lets the nurse check him out fully, after which he tries to
tell her that he’s feeling better already, ready to rejoin practice. She’s not
having it, adamant about him resting before going back. His nose is still
bleeding and she says he’s losing too much blood to be moving around. So, she
makes him lie down, presses a cold compress to his forehead, hands him a clean
towel for his nose, and sets a bottle of water on the bedside table.
Tsukki, who has been hovering quietly, points toward the doorway once the nurse
is at her desk. “I’m going back,” he says. “When your nose stops bleeding and
you feel better, just come back to practice, I guess.”
Yamaguchi peers glumly over at the nurse. “Whenever she lets me.”
“Just rest up,” Tsukki says—almost rolling his eyes—and leaves without saying
anything else.
The pinch server sighs and stares up at the dark ceiling, wishing his nose
would stop bleeding already.I suppose I’ll just close my eyes and rest. Just
for a minute.
He drifts off into a pleasant sleep and doesn’t open his eyes until a while
later, the room silent. Standing up, he realizes first that his nose has
stopped bleeding and that he feels better rested than he’d been this morning.
The next thing he realizes is that the nurse is gone, leaving behind a note
that reads, “Went to the Teachers’ Lounge. Will be back in 20 minutes.”
Yamaguchi wonders how much time has passed. He feels like he didn’t sleep for
very long, and now that practice is back to its normal length, he should be
able to catch the tail end of it.
“I can just go, right?” he mumbles to himself, wiping his face clean before
exiting the nurse’s office.
The practice game they were playing against the Neighborhood Association is
probably over by now, which is a pity. It’s been about a week since Yamaguchi
has been to see Shimada-san and he’d been looking forward to talking to him
after practice, so he hopes Shimada-san stuck around.
“Excuse me. You there.”
Yamaguchi stops in his tracks. Even though he’s aware that he’s the only other
one in the hallway, the pinch server still glances behind him just in case the
man meant someone else. The teacher is carrying two large boxes, back bent and
arms straining, long hair put up into a bun.
“Could you help me to move these boxes?” the man says. “I seem to have
overestimated my strength a bit, but I’d like to get this done as soon as
possible.”
The freckled first year takes long strides toward the teacher, figuring he’ll
get this done quickly and head back to practice. It’s not like he can refuse a
teacher. The teacher slides the top box into Yamaguchi’s outstretched arms,
causing the first year to huff a little with the weight. He’s surprised the man
had been carrying both.
“Follow me,” the teacher says. “What’s your name, son?”
“Yamaguchi Tadashi,” the first year manages to get out as he climbs the stairs.
What’s even in these boxes?
“Well, I’m Nakamura. I’m in charge of class 3-4.”
Aren’t Suga and Daichi in that class? That week before the setter attempted
suicide, Yamaguchi and the other first years visited him in class often. He
hates thinking about how Suga still hasn’t woken up because…what if he doesn’t?
Yamaguchi has never said it out loud because it feels like a betrayal admitting
it, but he sometimes thinks that Suga isn’t going to wake up. It’s scary
thinking about because of course he wants Suga to wake up.
“Nice to meet you,” Yamaguchi says, shaking his head clear of those thoughts.
Nakamura slows until they are walking side by side. “You’re on the volleyball
team, right?” he says like he’s just trying to make conversation. “I hear the
team’s not doing so well since Sugawara’s hospitalization.”
“Yeah, I suppose,” Yamaguchi replies, thinking. It’s an honest observation, so
the first year doesn’t know why it makes him bristle, but perhaps it’s because
it was said in such an off-handed way. Despite having been worried about the
contrary, he finds himself saying, “Once Suga-san’s back, we’ll be back on
track.”
 “Oh?” Nakamura-sensei asks, sounding amused. They’ve reached the top of the
staircase. “Is that so? You think he’ll wake up, come back to school and the
team, and everything will be like it was before?”
The box in Yamaguchi’s arms suddenly feels ten times heavier. Of course it
can’t be like before. Even I know that.Maybe he’s just regurgitating the same
optimism that surrounds him at practice, where they all talk about Suga like
he’s going to come back tomorrow. Sometimes he really does believe it
wholeheartedly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any offense,” Nakamura says, and Yamaguchi wonders if
he realizes how patronizing his tone is. “I’m just being realistic, and as an
adult, I think it’s important for me to avoid filling my students’ heads with
false hope. I think hope and blind faith can kill. I see how you want to
believe that Sugawara will wake up from his coma, even though it’s already been
a month.”
Yamaguchi doesn’t have to prove anything to this man, and this is a teacher so
he should probably hold his tongue, but a part of him can’t leave it at this.
Yamaguchi, despite his own reservations about Suga’s condition, has seen how
sometimes hope is the only thing to help people through these kinds of
situations.
“Suga-san’s strong,” Yamaguchi replies resolutely. He’s never spoken to a
teacher like this, so he almost apologizes for his attitude.
It’s quiet for a beat, and then the teacher asks, “Are you?”
Am I? “Huh?”
“Are you strong like Sugawara?”
The first year doesn’t know what to make of the question. All he knows is that
an uneasiness manifests in his chest. Am I strong like Suga-san? What a weird
question for a teacher to ask. Nevertheless, he ponders it and concludes that
he’s not like Suga, who’s brave and calm and strong on and off the court. If
what Hinata overheard was right and Tsukki’s theory proves correct, then Suga
had been pretending to be fine for a while before that week.
“That storage closet right there,” Nakamura says, tone returning to normal. 
During the walk, Yamaguchi somehow took the lead, so he’s the one to open the
door to the little storage closet and he’s the one to enter first. If Yamaguchi
wanted to stretch out his arms beside him, the width of the room would barely
accommodate him, though it’s significantly deeper. A metal shelf stands against
the wall directly in front of him storing various boxes and folders.
“Where should I set this?” Yamaguchi asks, ready to leave this box and teacher
behind and get back to his teammates.
He’s about to glance over his shoulder when two hands shove him hard. The box
slides from his grasp and he trips over it, landing awkwardly on the floor
after knocking his head against the shelf. “Ow,” he grumbles, pushing the box
aside with his foot and reaching up rub his forehead. That’s the second time
today he’s hit his head. Footsteps shuffle behind him and he hears the door
close and lock click, sending fear to twist his confusion into something
heavier.
“What are you—”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Nakamura purrs. “Well, I guess I’ll have to
see for myself.”
                                      ***
When practice ends and his freckled friend still hasn’t shown up, Tsukishima
checks the nurse’s office. He can’t imagine Yamaguchi going home without him,
yet the nurse’s office is locked and dark, so he turns on his heel, heading
home, resigning himself that he’s been left behind. He still pulls his phone
from his pocket and sends a quick text.
Tsukishima doesn’t get a response, which is irritating because the least
Yamaguchi could do is text him back. How hard is that, especially since he is
already home. Usually the brunette responds immediately, even if it is just to
say that he can’t talk right now. Tsukishima quickens his pace, cold air
nipping at his exposed skin until he can’t feel his nose, walk seeming twice as
long when alone. Every exhale fades into the winter night.
When he turns onto his street, he remembers all the homework left to do, like
the research paper assigned today, something that he was going to talk over
with Yamaguchi on the walk home. He glances at his phone again as he unlocks
his front gate. Did he already go to bed? Perhaps—
Tsukishima halts, surprised to find the brunette a few paces from him sitting
on his front steps. Yamaguchi, still in his practice clothes, is hunched down,
face hidden against his knees. Even though it’s so cold out, he seems to be
sweating and his hair is messier than usual. His schoolbag lies beside him.
“Hey,” Tsukishima says. His friend flinches but doesn’t raise his head or
speak.  “Hey, Yamaguchi,” he repeats, louder.
Slowly, the pinch server straightens and meets his eyes. Swirling with tears,
they shout something in a language that Tsukishima can’t seem to understand,
rendering the blonde speechless. The pair have known each other since grade
school and are usually adept at guessing what the other’s thinking. There’ve
been other times in primary school and early junior high when the freckled boy
has come crying to the blonde. Tsukishima is vaguely reminded of those times.
Yamaguchi’s eyes are puffy and swollen, his lip is busted, his shirt dirty and
stretched out oddly. A hand is on his neck, covering the skin there. But…
This time is different. The expressions in Yamaguchi’s eyes don’t make sense.
Neither boy says anything.
Then Yamaguchi stands, and it becomes evident that he’s still unbalanced.
“Sorry, Tsukki,” he says strangely, breaking eye contact and stooping to pick
up his bag. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
He starts to leave, limping slightly, expression tensed against pain.
Tsukishima’s eyes go wide at the sight, feeling like he’s been suddenly punched
in the gut or maybe hit over the back of his head. Yamaguchi’s physical
appearance and his strange behavior—it all comes together to form what
Tsukishima is sure is the sick truth. Somebody has hurt Yamaguchi. Raped him.
Tsukishima swallows the lump in his throat.
Yamaguchi tries to slip past him but the middle blocker reaches out to stop his
friend. “Don’t leave,” he says, voice betraying his unease. From this close, he
can see the bite marks the brunette was trying to hide, and he winces on the
inside. He takes a breath and continues calmly, “Come inside. We can talk
there.”
“I was so stupid,” Yamaguchi says, mouth trembling and eyes eerily vacant. “I
am so stupid.”
The blonde pulls on his arm. “You’re wrong, Yamaguchi,” he declares, leading
his friend inside. “You’re not stupid, so come in and we’ll figure this out.”
Tears start to drip down Yamaguchi’s face. Scrunching his eyes shut and biting
his inner lip, he lets himself be led across the threshold, down the hall, and
into Tsukishima’s bedroom. The middle blocker sits on the edge of his bed and
motions for Yamaguchi to do the same, but he refuses, clutching onto the strap
of his schoolbag nervously.
“Do you want to report it?” Tsukishima asks, looking perhaps too intently at
his friend.
The freckled boy shakes his head quickly, not looking up from his shoes.
“You sure?”
Nod.
Tsukishima searches his drawers and closet, saying, “I saw your uniform in the
club room, but I didn’t grab it because I thought you were still in the nurse’s
office.” He comes back with clothes and towel, giving them to his friend. He
can feel Yamaguchi shaking. “You can use the shower and any of the soaps.
There’s extra of everything in the bathroom drawers. Well, you know.”
“Thanks,” the brunette mumbles as he exits the room, avoiding eye contact.
Once Tsukishima hears the shower running, his fists clench and his face
contorts into an image of rage. Damn the bastard who did this! Damn him, damn
him, damn him! Why did this have to happen? Why isn’t this bastard behind bars
yet? Or dead? He throws himself onto his bed and curses loudly. Why? Why why
why why why why why? Why didn’t I stay with him?
Chest rising and falling as if he’d just played a game, Tsukishima unfolds his
fists and laughs at how fucked up everything has gotten. First Suga, now
Yamaguchi… There may even be others that no one knows about, because they’d
probably want to keep it quiet like his teammates. 
He sits up. He doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to help Yamaguchi—doesn’t
know that things won’t end up like they did with Suga. How did it get to this
point? For Yamaguchi at least, it happened so close to school hours, and close
to school (maybe at school), seeing as the freckled teen beat Tsukishima home.
So, the perpetrator must be connected to Karasuno High. That’s the most logical
conclusion—the obvious common denominator, save the volleyball angle. And that
doesn’t pan out because there’s no way that anyone on the team or Ukai could
hurt Suga and Yamaguchi. It has to be somebody at school. The question is: who
would do something like this?
                                      ***
Even after he shuts off the shower, Yamaguchi stands there like a statue,
unmoving, dripping, but still feeling like he didn’t clean thoroughly enough.
His skin burns where he was touched and he wants to peel it off. Maybe then
he’ll be able to shake the feeling of Nakamura-sensei’s body.
Yamaguchi lurches forward and falls to his knees in the tub. His body shakes,
as if with sobs, but no tears come and this quivering, nauseating feeling is
more akin to fear than sadness. He hears the man’s voice all around him,
echoing off of the bathroom walls and spiraling back to constrict his chest,
his heart, into submission.
“Are you strong like Sugawara?”
The brunette presses his forehead against the tiled wall and relishes in the
coolness against this unwanted skin. He wishes he could undo everything that
happened today. Suga. I don’t want this, whatever these feelings are. If I
could go back and make this any other Wednesday...He breathes through his nose,
the smell of soap filling his nostrils. He doesn’t want to move from this spot.
“So, Yamaguchi Tadashi… Take good care of me,” Nakamura whispered with a fist
full of his hair.
After the teacher had satisfied himself, Yamaguchi was left lying in that
storage closet, looking at all those dusty boxes through bleary eyes, thinking
that he didn’t really want to be alone. In that little room, he felt like the
only person in the world, the quiet suffocating. It was dark. Yamaguchi was
still trying to figure out how this had happened. He couldn’t let the team see
him like this, but he didn’t want to be alone, and he thought that Tsukki could
help with this, but now that he’s here, he can’t face his friend. Tsukki’s so
smart, Yamaguchi probably won’t be able to hide these things from him.
“Open your mouth.”
And he did. He did everything he was told and he feels so sick and angry and
humiliated and… If I hadn’t been so scared then—if I hadn’t been such a coward,
then maybe things would have happened differently. Yamaguchi snorts. Who am I
kidding? I’ve always been a coward, haven’t I? I thought I’d gotten stronger,
grown up, but that’s not true. He lets his arm dangle over the side of the tub,
ignoring the throbbing pain in his backside, and drags his fingers along the
wet floor.
“Yamaguchi,” Tsukki murmurs on the other side of the door, knocking twice. “You
okay in there?”
The boy in question pulls his face back from the wall, realizing just how
similar it is to his earlier position. He coughs to clear his throat. “Yes,
I’ll be out in a minute.”
How do I face him?
“I was thinking that we could call Daichi-san,” Tsukki says. “I’m not sure how
much he knows about what’s going on, but he’s close with Sugawara-san so maybe
he can help. Only if you want to.”
“Um.” The brunette can’t seem to find words to explain that he doesn’t think
Tsukki’s idea is bad, he’s just nervous about seeing anyone right now. Yet, he
doesn’t want to be left alone and the idea of being around Daichi and the team
seems like a safe place. But isn’t it strange that Tsukki suggests Daichi-san
when he suspects Daichi is keeping things from them?
“We don’t have to,” Tsukki makes sure to add.
“No,” Yamaguchi says quickly. Maybe he shouldn’t say anything and just leave
things like this. There’s less to explain this way and—he winces thinking about
Nakamura’s words—he isn’t sure how much he can articulate. Before he truly
changes his mind, he says, “Call him. He should know.”
Tsukki exhales loudly on the other side of the door. “You don’t owe anyone
anything. Whatever you’re comfortable with…is all I want.”
“It’s okay, really. I’ll be right out.” It’s surprisingly difficult to say.
He brushes his teeth twice as long as usual. He dresses carefully, limbs heavy
but grateful for the clean clothes and comforted by the familiar scent of
Tsukki’s laundry soap.
Yamaguchi reenters the room to find Tsukki sitting on the bed with a first aid
kit beside him. He studies the little box because it’s easier than meeting the
other’s eyes. “I don’t have any injuries that need first aid,” he says
hollowly, still staring downwards. A small bruise on my forehead, a cut lip,
and… Well, either way, he can’t help me with them.
He hears the bed creak and sees the middle blocker’s legs as they approach.
“Here,” Tsukki says, grabbing his hand and dropping two small pills into it.
“For the pain. And I thought you’d want to cover up the hickeys.”
“Oh,” Yamaguchi replies, fist closing around the pills and other hand going to
his neck. “Thanks.”
Blushing, the freckled first year sits on the edge of the bed gingerly, taking
the bottle of water offered and swallowing the pills in one gulp. He sits still
and quietly as his friend applies the bandaids, fingers gentle and fleeting.
This touch filled with kindness eases some of the ache in Yamaguchi’s chest.
“Yamaguchi?”
The brunette jumps, suddenly remembers that he’s not existing solely inside his
head. He’s reminded that his body hurts like hell and his head’s not much
better off, and he wonders what kind of expression he was making. “Yes?” he
asks, voice straining to retain a tone of normalcy while he picks at some lint
on the blanket beneath him.
“Will you look at me?” Tsukki says.
Yamaguchi doesn’t. He feels so out of place even though he’s been in this room
a thousand times, even though this person is someone he trusts more than almost
any other. He’s afraid that if he meets his best friend’s eyes he’s going to
break down, and if he completely breaks he’s not sure he’ll be able to put
himself together again.
“Talk to me,” Tsukki whispers uncertainly. “It doesn’t have to be about that.
You’re so quiet right now.”
He doesn’t know what to think anymore. He can’t tell Tsukki how he begged and
begged Nakamura to let him go and how it only angered the man. He can’t tell
his friend how the man finally shut him up by filling his mouth with something
horrible. “You’re cuter when you’re quiet,” the teacher had said along with
several other more vulgar things that Yamaguchi can’t even repeat in his head
because it makes his stomach twist with disgust.
How does he explain the fact that the sound of his own voice makes him anxious?
How does he explain this? How does he explain even a part of it?
“I called Daichi-san,” Tsukki says. “He’s on his way over.”
Yamaguchi barely hears his friend over the roaring in his own head. If he could
just make it stop—these memories playing themselves on repeat—then maybe he’ll
stop feeling the urge to scream his voice hoarse or burn off his skin.
A thought strikes him suddenly, making his stomach drop and bloodstream go
cold. Tsukki’s always telling him to shut up, isn’t he? What if what Nakamura
said was right and his voice is annoying? What if he really is annoying Tsukki
and the others when he talks too much?
 “Tell me what I can do to help,” Tsukki whispers, displacing the guilt and
loneliness his thoughts had caused.
A familiar voice, a familiar smell, a familiar space—they’re all things he
wants to capture and hold in his chest; maybe dress them up in chainmail to
combat this fear and nausea. Yamaguchi throws himself at his friend, almost
knocking him over. He clings on tightly, expecting to be pushed away any
second, wanting to take as much comfort as he can from this hug before that
happens.
It doesn’t happen. Tsukki doesn’t push him away, a fact that floods the
brunette with relief. Burying his face against the other’s shoulder, Yamaguchi
shakes, sniffles turning into cries turning into sobs, the scream built up
inside of him bursting free and fracturing the calm. Minutes pass before he
feels an arm rise and wrap around him. Tsukki who dislikes hugs. Tsukki who
hates crying. Tsukki who is always so stoic.
This. This is what you can do to help.
Yamaguchi smiles as the tears start to slow and his body stops quivering,
grateful for this kindness. He pulls back reluctantly, studying his interlaced
fingers. Maybe he should say “thank you,” but won’t that sound weird?
“Yamaguchi,” Tsukki says. A few moments pass in which Tsukki remains silent,
and then the middle blocker prods, “Tadashi.”
Yamaguchi flicks his gaze up in surprise at hearing his given name. Tsukki’s
the same person he’s always known, with the golden brown eyes and glasses, the
short blond hair and stoic expression. Yamaguchi knows he looks the same as
always too and wonders how on earth that is possible when he feels as if
everything’s changed on the inside. The middle blocker cracks an uncertain
smile.
“So, you don’t hate me, do you?” he asks, eyes apprehensive and searching in a
way that the brunette has never seen. “For not staying with you?”
“What? No way,” he responds immediately. “I don’t hate you. I couldn’t—” His
voice fizzles out before he can finish, remembering what was said about being
annoying. All the times his friend has told him to shut up rise to the surface
of his mind too. Even though the wondering is painful, it’s easier than
thinking about some of the things that happened. He can’t believe they
happened.
Just then, there’s a knock on the door and they’re joined by Daichi, who looks
tired, though he always looks tired these days.
“Pardon the intrusion,” Daichi says, scanning the situation subtly. Or in a way
that’s supposed to be subtle. “How are you doing?”
Terrible. Horrible. I feel scared and stupid and worthless and filthy and so
many other things that are not “good” or “fine.” But he can’t say that, can he?
Yamaguchi picks at his nails, wracking his brain to come up with something,
anything, to say to his captain who came all the way here from Suga’s bedside
to see him.
“You don’t have to say ‘good,’ you know,” Daichi informs him kindly. Yamaguchi
almost flinches at how easily Daichi guessed his thoughts. “No one expects you
to be at one hundred percent right now.”
Of course no one expects him to be fine. That makes sense, but he still can’t
quite voice his thoughts. “I don’t know really,” he ends up saying in a small
voice.
Daichi nods slowly as if that makes sense. If it does, then Yamaguchi wishes
he’d clarify for him, because the first year doesn’t know what to make of it
all.
“I know I don’t understand what you’ve been through,” Daichi starts, making the
pinch server wince again at how close the captain is to answering his thoughts.
The older teen, sitting backwards on Tsukki’s desk chair, seems to be choosing
his words carefully. “But I know that it’s terrible and I know that it is in no
way your fault.”
Tsukki nods solemnly, but says nothing else, differing to Daichi in this
situation.
“And,” Daichi says, looking between the two first years, “everyone on the team
is here for you. You’re just as important a person to us as Suga, and we all
care about you like family, so please… lean on us.”
Surely something so nice isn’t supposed to hurt this much. Lean on us. He’s not
alone, he’s not alone, he’s not alone. Yamaguchi repeats this in his head,
blinking away tears and smiling just the tiniest bit despite the ache. I’m not
alone, I’m not alone, I’m not alone.
“Thank you.”
Daichi leans forward and asks, “You write, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Yamaguchi replies, initially confused as to how the captain knows this
fact until he remembers the train ride back from Sendai a month ago. He and the
captain had talked about a lot of things, one of which was the first year’s
writing hobby.
“I was thinking, since it’s kind of hard talking about, you could write about
your experience and feelings,” the captain proposes, analyzing Yamaguchi’s
reaction when the first year glances up. Yamaguchi quickly goes back to looking
at his lap. “I read online that it could help, so that you don’t keep things
bottled up.”
Can he really write about what happened? The permanence of writing something
down weighs on his shoulders. How does he go about transcribing this fear? Is
it supposed to be like a journal or diary? And what if somebody reads it?
“You should try it,” Tsukki says evenly.
Yamaguchi looks to him, thinking that he’s going to give an explanation, but is
disappointed. Yamaguchi returns to his thoughts. There are things he can’t
imagine ever saying out loud, so maybe writing them will be easier like Daichi
said. Maybe he can write in third person and pretend like the things that
happened to him happened to someone else entirely.
Tsukki paces over to his desk, pulling a composition notebook from a pile of
papers and folders. “You can use this. It’s new,” he says, holding it out.
“Thanks, Tsukki.” Tears well in Yamaguchi’s eyes. Everyone’s so nice. He
doesn’t deserve all of this kindness.
After talking for another thirty minutes or so, Daichi gets ready to leave,
once more assuring Yamaguchi that everyone cares a great deal about him. Tsukki
jumps up when Daichi rises and offers to walk the captain to the gate. There
must be more that the blonde wants to talk about, but not in front of
Yamaguchi. Sure enough, Tsukki’s gone for almost ten minutes and by the time he
comes back, the brunette has already called his grandparents for a ride home.
He usually doesn’t think twice about walking home from Tsukki’s, but he knows
his friend will insist on walking with him tonight, and then who would there be
to walk Tsukki back?
Barely five minutes pass before Yamaguchi gets a call to go downstairs. Tsukki
walks him outside, stopping in the headlights of the parked car with an
expression like he’s struggling to speak. Yamaguchi, notebook clutched to his
chest like a lifeline, waits patiently for his friend to find the words he’s
searching for. He almost smiles. Tsukki’s quips usually require little effort.
“Yamaguchi, I—” Tsukki says, pushing up his glasses and meeting Yamaguchi’s
eyes. “I’m sorry. Everything that you’ve gone through… I’m sorry.”
On that chilly Wednesday night, in the illumination of a car’s headlights,
Yamaguchi looks up into his best friend’s face to find tears glistening there.
His breath catches. He’s never seen Tsukki cry before. Tsukki hates crying.
Before the blonde can raise his arm to wipe the tears from his cheeks,
Yamaguchi throws an arm around him, the other still cradling the notebook. He
does his best to imbue this hug with all the reassurances he can’t speak.
Thank you so much, Tsukki.
                                      ***
Yamaguchi awakes in pitch blackness, not knowing where he is, terror gripping
him. Body drenched in sweat and heart pounding in his chest, he jumps up and
flicks on the light. Still the taste of fear lingers on his tongue, so he scans
his room just to make sure he’s alone and there’s nothing hiding in the
shadows. The time on his alarm clock reads 2:47 AM.
After a second look, he resigns himself to the fact that he’s alone, trudging
back to his bed and sitting cross-legged with his blankets wrapped around him.
Calm down, calm down, he tells himself as he tries to banish all remnants of
the nightmare he’d been having. Yamaguchi puts a hand over his mouth, fingers
trembling. Did he make Suga-san do that too? Give out instructions for Suga-san
to follow too? Yamaguchi brings his knees up and curls into the smallest ball
he can manage. Probably not. The state Suga-san was in at the hospital, he
probably fought back a lot. I didn’t. I don’t even have one bruise to prove
that I tried.
He thought he’d already cried all his tears away trying to tell his
grandparents what happened. He’d managed to get two sentences across, but,
fortunately, they didn’t need to hear anymore to know, and they wrapped him in
their arms as he cried. He felt like a child in the sense that he felt
protected and safe.
Yamaguchi thought he was done crying, but apparently not. He tries to be quiet,
so as not to wake his grandparents, both hands firmly fitted over his mouth.
The thought of going to school tomorrow and seeing his teammates’ faces change
from determined optimism to whatever it will be when he tells them is
disheartening. The thought of going to school and running into Nakamura-sensei
in the hallway is terrifying. He tries to make himself smaller.
The first year stays that way for almost an hour. When he finally unfolds
himself, his body is tired from crying but he’s too wary of sleep and
nightmares to lay his head down and close his eyes, so Yamaguchi desperately
searches for distractions to keep himself awake. He reads a few chapters of a
novel on his bookshelf. He does sit-ups. He paces the length of his bedroom. He
watches really old, nostalgic music videos on YouTube. All the while glancing
at where the composition notebook Tsukki gave him is sitting on his desk.
Every time Yamaguchi approaches the notebook, he has second thoughts about
committing these things to paper. He can’t even articulate what’s in his head,
so sentences on paper won’t even be coherent. He’d just mess up whatever he’d
tried to write, so it’s better to wait until things make more sense. Right?
Yamaguchi passes up the notebook for what feels like the thousandth time, his
alarm blaring through the silence, making him jump.
Morning.
He leans against his window, peering out at the light just barely peeking over
the mountains. Despite his alarm, he’s usually never up early enough to see
this, pressing snooze at least three times before getting out of bed.
It’s weird.
Yesterday morning, and every day before it, feel like memories from somebody
else’s life.
Yamaguchi Tadashi, Yamaguchi Tadashi, Yamaguchi Tadashi. I’m still the same me
I was yesterday. I’m still the same person. First year at Karasuno High. Number
twelve, pinch server. Tsukishima Kei’s friend. I like writing and I like
volleyball. I suck at English, but do good in other subjects. I’m still the
same me. Yamaguchi Tadashi.
“What’s your name, son?”
Yamaguchi flinches when the unbidden voice resounds again in his head. He
releases a few sardonic chuckles as he crumbles to the floor below his window,
eyes glazing over with the memories.
It’s weird.
Out of all the mornings in his life, he’s never hated one more than this one.
Chapter End Notes
     -I wanted the apology scene outside Tsukki's house to be a 'moment'
     you know?
     -that being said, I only ship Tsukkiyama platonically, so I don't
     want anyone to get their hopes up for a Tsukkiyama ending
     -also, fuck nakamura, obviously
     -I started the next chapter when I was procrastinating editing this
     one, and I just want to say that chpt 15 ends on a positive
     cliffhanger
***** Skin *****
Chapter Notes
     -the queen of inconsistent updates is back with a double update (has
     hell frozen over????)
     -this chapter contains flashbacks to the rape and anxiety
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It’s a while before Yamaguchi stands and turns off his alarm. He showers and
dresses, not letting his eyes linger on any part of his body for too long,
movements slow and aching as he waits for this morning’s pain killers to kick
in. The kitchen is filled with the smell of brewing coffee and the sound of his
grandparents’ warm voices. They sit at the small table pouring over a mystery
novel, his grandfather reading aloud to his grandmother, only looking up when
Yamaguchi steps across the threshold nervously. Expressions of surprise flit
across both of their faces before smiles settle there.
“You’re out of bed?” his grandmother asks, and noting the bag slung over his
shoulder, continues, “You’re going to school today?”
“You’re so brave,” his grandfather adds, serving breakfast onto a plate and
placing it in Yamaguchi’s hands. “You remind me of your father more and more
every day.”
Yamaguchi’s eyes go wide. Like his father? His father was a
firefighter—basically superhero status to his younger self—someone he couldn’t
imagine ever being like. That was fine, being afraid and ordinary completely
okay when his dad was alive to protect him and Yamaguchi didn’t need to be his
own superhero. But now the idea of being like his dad seems like more of an
insult to his dad than a compliment to him.
He wants to tell them that no, no he’s not brave, but so, so afraid. Afraid of
being alone for even a minute, and afraid of the quiet, and that’s why he’s
going to school—to be around noise and people and distraction, though, a part
of him also suspects that once he gets there he won’t know how to act. His
intentions aren’t to conquer his fears or face the person who hurt him. I’m
definitely not brave.
“We love you no matter what. I hope you know that.”
Yamaguchi eats slowly, forcing himself to chew even though the food’s tasteless
and heavy in his mouth because he saw what not eating did to Suga. It’s
difficult, though, because each bite makes him self-conscious. He keeps
thinking that everyone can tell what happened just by looking at him. That
they’ll know he just scrunched his eyes shut and did what that damn voice told
him to do.
“Open your mouth.”
“If you bite me, I’ll bite you.”
“Use your tongue.”
“Yes. Like that.”
“Move your head.”
It was so gross and humiliating even though no one else saw.
One of the first things Nakamura did was confirm that he had raped Suga, which
only made controlling Yamaguchi through fear that much easier. He had thought
about Suga, beaten and left for dead, and the first year was gripped with a
fear strong enough to overpower his shame. That teacher… Why did he do this?
What was the point? Was it really that fun taking my body, making me cry and
beg? Am I a joke to him?Not a person. Just a body enveloped in a skin Yamaguchi
wishes he could discard as thoroughly as the wrapping paper on Christmas.
“When you’re ready to talk, we’re here to listen,” his grandfather says,
breaking through the silence.
He doesn’t know when he’ll be ready to talk. But he whispers, “Okay,” and moves
to wash his dishes and finish getting ready for school. Despite the medicine,
his muscles feel stiff so it takes longer than usual. 
Waving goodbye from the doorway, he trudges out to meet Tsukki who’s waiting at
the street.
His friend scans him up and down, causing Yamaguchi to stumble under his gaze.
“Did you sleep at all?”
Yamaguchi hums, not sure whether he intends it to be interpreted as a yes or a
no. Luckily, his ambiguity is left unchallenged and they walk the rest of the
way in silence, reaching the school grounds in no time; however, Yamaguchi’s
breathing quickens, seemingly to contrast the slowing of his steps. The act of
fleeing last night is hazy, the details of making his way through the school
hallways mostly missing. He wasn’t really rational—he went back for his bag but
forgot his uniform, left the safety of the team behind but went straight to
Tsukki’s house. He clearly remembers running, though. He remembers running for
what felt like hours, the adrenaline enough to mask his pain.
“Did it happen here?” Tsukki asks quietly.
Yamaguchi glances up at his friend and then away quickly.
“If you think about opening your mouth about this, you should be prepared for
the consequences. If you can’t convince the police and the courts of what I did
to you—if they don’t lock me up behind bars—Iwillcome for you. I’ll come for
round two. You should just keep that pretty mouth shut.”
His skin crawls. How do people do it? There are people that speak up against
vile people like Nakamura, but he’s not brave like them. He wants to be. He
wants to prove his grandpa right, so, despite his overwhelming wariness, he
nods. His hesitance probably gave it away anyways. He knows Tsukki will be
thinking about what it means and who it could be, putting two and two together.
But if he can start with a nod, then maybe he’ll get to the point where he can
speak out against that teacher. 
“Tell me if you feel uncomfortable or scared, okay?” Tsukki says.
“Yeah,” the brunette manages.
When the team is told that morning, they all react like they did upon hearing
about Suga, disbelief and sadness polluting the air. Even though Daichi is the
one to deliver the news, every face turns toward Yamaguchi. It’s weird being on
the other side of this gaze now. Heavy.
“Yamaguchi,” Hinata says in a tone so serious that the pinch server is startled
into meeting his eye. The orange-haired spiker walks over to Yamaguchi, sitting
down right in front of him and stirring up a few murmurs of curiosity from the
other team members. “It’s not your fault,” he says. “I don’t know if you think
that, but it’s not. Remember when we talked about all the things we wished we
could say to Suga-san?”
They’ve talked about Suga tons of times, but Yamaguchi knows Hinata is
referring to the time when just the first years were gathered in the clubroom.
It was only a few days after Suga attempted suicide and the four of them were
commiserating their failed attempts at helping Suga, thinking that if they’d
tried a little harder, it would have worked out. Then the conversation turned
to what they should have said and what they still wanted to say.We need you
here. We want you here. It’s not your fault. We miss you. We want to help you.
You’ve helped us so much. We’re sorry. We care about you. Please don’t go.
“It all applies to you too. So, don’t go anywhere.”
“Wow, Hinata,” Kageyama says quietly. “That’s actually…”
“Beautiful,” Asahi finishes with a sniffle.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” Ennoshita says, seeking out Yamaguchi’s eyes.
“If you need anything…” Yachi adds, tears streaming down her face. She starts
crying in earnest, Shimizu folding her into her arms and patting her head.
“We’re here for you,” Kageyama assures him. He stretches out a hand and
Yamaguchi only hesitates a moment before taking it, feeling the setter squeeze
lightly. Everyone’s so kind. They’re always kind, but especially now. Do I
really deserve all of this? He’s in process of nodding in thanks to Kageyama
when the setter tries to smile comfortingly, but it’s not comforting at all.
Hinata elbows him, whispering, “Your ‘nice’ face is scary. Stop it.”
Kageyama blushes heavily. “My face isn’t scary.”
“Yamaguchi!” Tanaka and Noya cry together, and Ennoshita grabs them before they
can rush any closer.
“Don’t overwhelm him,” Ennoshita scolds.
“We’ll do anything for you, Yamaguchi,” Tanaka announces, and then thinks.
“Well, if it’s something we can do.”
“Okay. Let’s let him breathe. We should set up for practice,” Daichi says,
ushering them away. Before he goes more than a few paces, he turns back to
Yamaguchi. “Why don’t you take it easy today?” Daichi says. “You shouldn’t push
yourself too hard.”
Yamaguchi nods. Tsukki catches his eye from a few paces away and the brunette
nods to him too. Yeah, I’m okay, Tsukki. He slides down the wall next to the
water bottles, picking up his notebook. Sometimes, he thinks that if he carries
this around long enough, he’ll find the courage to write in it. Resting his
chin on his knees, the first year watches volleyballs fly through the air and
listens to the routine shouts of praise and criticism. Honestly, it’s a relief,
not having to practice today. He’s so tired. Also, with everyone busy,
Yamaguchi is free to be around the team without worrying about answering or
avoiding questions.
                                      ***
Daichi rides the elevator up to the fifth floor of the hospital, feeling like
the weight of yesterday should be enough to sink the elevator to the ground
floor. So, when the bell dings and the doors open up to a pristine hallway, he
steps out gratefully. Suga’s room is at the end of the long hallway, so as he
passes the nurses’ station, several of them wave and smile, accustomed to
seeing him so often. Most days he doesn’t meet anyone here. Suga’s mom is still
working like crazy and his dad has been putting in extra hours at work to help
with the increasing medical bills. The team stops by once a week.
Daichi’s parents still aren’t happy about him spending so much of his free time
at the hospital, but he’s been careful to keep his grades up, not wanting to
give any credence to his parents’ worries. It doesn’t stop them from worrying
and it doesn’t stop them from calling his teachers to check in on his
academics. They’ve even arranged a dinner with one of his dad’s old college
friends to talk about internships and Daichi’s future, which the captain is
dreading. Very much.But that’s a week away and a lot can happen in a week.
Maybe I’ll have my life figured out by then.
Yeah. Just keep lying to yourself, Daichi.
He plops down into the chair at Suga’s bedside. “Hey, Suga. I don’t know how to
tell you this—don’t know if I should—but yesterday, Yamaguchi was raped.”
He swallows. It isn’t any easier saying this to an unconscious Suga than it was
telling the team earlier. The reality behind the word carries a weight Daichi
can’t even imagine, so maybe that’s why he stumbles on it, why he searches for
euphemisms to make saying it a little more bearable.
“We’re all trying our best to help him…like we couldn’t help you.” Daichi
breathes. “I really wish you’d wake up.” I really need you.He admits, “I don’t
know how to keep the team from falling apart. Tsukishima’s angry at me, which I
get, but it’s still hard. Nishinoya’s angry at everything. Even though Hinata
put up a strong front in front of Yamaguchi, he approached me at lunch with the
worry that it was his fault, that if he had received Asahi’s spike correctly
yesterday, then Yamaguchi wouldn’t have left practice and none of this would
have happened. Do you know how long it took me to convince him that none of
this was his fault? And Asahi is taking it really hard too. He felt a
responsibility to protect everyone too, you know? He’s going to spend next week
in Hokkaido at his cousin’s place, I think because he needs some time, though
that’s not what he says.
“That’s on top of everything Yamaguchi’s feeling. I have no idea what I’m doing
right now. I think a part of me is still just trying to wait you out, Suga. How
should I be helping as a captain?”
Last night’s conversation with Tsukishima springs to mind. He grimaces,
regretting how he handled the situation, thinking that he should have been more
understanding of the blonde’s perspective.
He knew something was strange when Tsukishima offered to walk him to the gate.
Just before their destination, the middle blocker took ahold of Daichi’s collar
and pushed him against the fence. He felt his shoulders hit before his head,
and he grit his teeth to stop himself from shoving back.
“Tell me everything you know,” Tsukishima demanded, eyes burning with a fire
he’d never seen before. Yet, Daichi could see the younger teen was more
desperate than he wanted to let on, body and voice shaking despite the
scorching glare.
“Let go of me,” Daichi said, returning the blonde’s stare.
“You know more about what’s going on but you won’t tell usunderlings,”
Tsukishima was quick to say. “Do you think we’re stupid, Daichi-san?”
Daichi didn’t flinch. He repeated, “Let go of me.” He could have pushed
Tsukishima away easily. It was obvious the boy’s resolve wasn’t that strong to
begin with, but he didn’t want to escalate things. That, and a part of him
wanted to save face in front of his kouhai (he was the captain, damn it).
Daichi settled for setting his jaw and holding Tsukishima’s gaze until the
middle blocker was the first to break away.
The first year took a few steps back, stuffing his hands in his pockets and
asking, “Happy now?”
“It’s not something that would have stopped this,” Daichi sighed, crossing his
arms. “Suga asked me to keep things between us.”
“This is not just Sugawara’s problem anymore!” Tsukishima spat passionately.
“I don’t have any special information like you think I do. All I know is that
it happened before,” Daichi        said, holding his head and wondering if his
earlier decision to keep this to himself was really that wrong. “He was raped
before. Suga didn’t tell me where, he didn’t tell me when, and he definitely
didn’t tell me who. If I knew who did this, do you really think I would sit
back and do nothing?”
The porchlight cast their shadows dark against the fence, natural starlight and
moonlight hidden by clouds. The wind blew as if teasing a storm, but Tsukishima
didn’t speak. He stood there and pursed his lips, a sarcastic look in his eyes
that Daichi couldn’t immediately understand. Then it hit him like the rush of
wind did soon after.  
Daichi shivered. He shook his head deliberately and whispered, “Don’t you put
this on him. He was trying his best just to make it through each day. He was
struggling so much he tried tokill himself. Suga shouldn’t hold the
responsibility for that bastard’s actions.”
The other teen frowned, kicking the cement beneath his shoe. “I don’t blame
him. Not really. But I can’t go on hoping everything’s going to be okay with no
evidence and no information and no promise this won’t happen again.”
“Tsukishima...”
“I’m frustrated. I’m pissed off. Someone hurt Yamaguchi and I’m afraid to ask
him what happened, because I’m afraid he’s going to do something stu—something
like Suga, and thatcan’thappen.” Tsukishima stopped to catch his breath. “He’ll
barely even look at me. I need something to do that isn’t sitting here waiting
for that bastard to happen to get caught.”
Just then, Daichi saw Tsukishima’s sadness more clearly than ever. He placed a
hand on the blonde’s shoulder. “Tsukishima. Yamaguchi trusts you so much. Do
you realize that? He respects and trusts you enough to come to you first, right
after it happened.” Daichi’s grip tightened. “You need something to do right
now? Then tell me why you’ve spent the past five minutes arguing with me when
he’s up there waiting for you?”
Tsukishima drew back. He didn’t reply but his frown deepened, gaze losing its
focus behind his glasses.
His words hit below the belt, but it wasn’t something he felt bad about saying
until hours later. At the time, all he was thinking was that he’d give anything
for five more minutes with Suga.
Maybe it was his pride, but the captain couldn’t admit to Tsukishima that he
felt just as helpless most of the time. He wishes he could have stopped what
happened to Yamaguchi from happening.
Daichi stands, not wanting to burden Suga with all of this. He touches his
fingertips to the back of the setter’s hand, Suga’s idle face framed by silver
hair slightly longer than he usually wore it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Letting out a quiet sigh, he closes the door to Suga’s room slowly and checks
the time to see if there’s still time to kill before going home.
“Ah, Daichi,” Suga’s mom exclaims when she sees him, hurrying to close the
distance. Her husband follows, looking just as relieved to see the teen.
“There’s something we need to talk to you about.”
                                      ***
He spends the weekend at Tsukki’s house working on homework and trying not to
think about the things Nakamura did, though he hasn’t been successful on either
front. He doesn’t have any idea what he wants to write his research paper on.
And he keeps thinking about it.
Daichi sent him some links to sites designed to help rape survivors and share
stories, but all Yamaguchi has done so far is stare at the message. What are
these websites supposed to give him? He’s wary of other people’s stories. He
knows that’s not the only reason he’s avoided clicking on the links, but it’s
enough to justify himself for now. He’s glad the captain hasn’t asked him about
it.
“Hey, Yamaguchi,” Tsukki says.
Yamaguchi finds it easier to look at people the more he tries, though his voice
is something he’s still worried about. He tries to speak simply and concisely
where he can.I won’t let myself become any more annoying to Tsukki or anyone
else.
“If you need anything, just say so.”
Yamaguchi bites down on the inside of his cheek.
How can the brunette speak so casually when every syllable uttered is a
reminder of the repulsive betrayal his tongue committed?
Yamaguchi flicks his gaze back to his closed laptop, mouth pulled into a heavy
frown. I don’t care about this research paper and I don’t care  if I fail. I
can’t focus right now. I can’t focus on anything. You need to focus, Tadashi.
School is important, he tries to tell himself firmly. But his body remembers.
Sometimes, the way that the light enters a dark room through the crack in the
door, or the smell when dusty papers settle, or a laugh or a hand on his
shoulder—sometimes they all remind him of that evening. Sometimes it brings the
images and feelings to life again too clearly. Sometimes he can’t figure out
the cause.
And he wears the memories like a second layer of skin, everything—every
unwanted moan nestled against his neck, every strand of hair yanked from his
scalp, every threat and every sigh, every “fuck/fucked/fucking” that tumbled
from Nakamura’s mouth—making him want so badly to remove this outer layer so
that that there’s nothing but his flesh underneath. It’s a decidedly gruesome
image, he supposes, but nothing crueler than what’s already happened.
“I don’t know what I need,” Yamaguchi says, surprising himself. He buries his
nose in the crook of his elbow so that his voice is muffled. “Everyone keeps
saying that but I don’t know.” His voice fades to a soft whisper by the end.
“Well,” Tsukki says, “until you figure it out, I’ll just keep reminding you.”
Yamaguchi shifts so that he can peek at Tsukki only to find the blonde staring
back with a look that says I’m not sorry about it.Yamaguchi sighs.
He spends the rest of the weekend wondering if he’ll ever feel okay talking
about it. He wants to forget entirely. The problem is that despite all his
avoidance, he’s remembering things he blocked out. They return to him in
nightmares and random flashes.
He awakes from a nightmare a little past three on Monday morning, drenched in
sweat, heart beating erratically, and skin on fire. There’s so many things that
he doesn’t want to remember, like the man’s tongue in his ear, the thrusts that
split him open, fingernails digging into his hips... Nakamura saying things
that made him feel small—made him want to disappear.
And no. No! He isn’t going to think about this. Not when he’s alone and it’s
dark. He peels the damp clothes from his body, shivering as the air assaults
his slick skin. He’s sick of the nightmares which are based in reality.
Yamaguchi spends all day running from the memories only to have to relive them
at night. It’s not fair.
He’s unable to fall back asleep, so when Yamaguchi meets his best friend a few
hours later in front of his house, the blonde’s first question is if he slept
at all. He tries to laugh it off and his friend lets him for now, instead
changing the subject to the fact that he’ll be missing afternoon practice.
Dentist appointment. Tsukki asked Hinata and Daichi to look after Yamaguchi,
both having readily agreed via text. Part of the brunette feels incredibly
babied learning this. The other part of him feels grateful and even cracks a
smile imagining Tsukki texting Hinata, the latter probably using lots of emojis
and exclamation marks. Tsukki hates that.
Before Yamaguchi can join morning practice, Daichi pulls him aside. “Have you
been eating and sleeping?” the captain asks with a worried expression. Though
Yamaguchi answers with a decisive nod, Daichi doesn’t look convinced. “I know
this may be a little harsh, given the circumstances, but you don’t look well.
You look exhausted. I’m not comfortable letting you practice like this.”
The brunette can only nod and reply with, “Okay,” because if he looks half as
bad as he feels then he should have seen this coming. He’s so tired. He hasn’t
been able to sleep for more than a few hours at a time since that evening.
“No one wants you to get hurt,” Daichi explains as if Yamaguchi put up an
argument.
“Okay,” he repeats.
He starts to head toward his usual spot beside the water bottles when Daichi
stops him with a tap on the arm. “If you need to use this time to sleep, don’t
hesitate. You won’t get in trouble and no one will bother you here. This gym is
a safe place.”
Yamaguchi’s eyes widen in genuine surprise. So many accommodations made for
me.He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to pay everyone back, and he’s not sure if
he’ll take advantage of all of this, but he’s grateful. And he’s grateful to
the team for supporting him with nothing but kindness. And—he hastily blinks
away tears, turning his face away from the captain who has no doubt already
seen. Don’t get emotional now, Tadashi. Relax.
                                      ***
The orange-haired spiker shows up at Yamaguchi’s class as soon as the bell
rings as if he teleported, poking his head across the threshold and waving.
Following Hinata to the clubroom where Kageyama nods in greeting, Yamaguchi
changes despite not being allowed to practice. Yamaguchi sits the corner of the
gym with his notebook. Kageyama and Hinata are practicing together before the
others show up. The freckled boy likes watching them, something about their
single-minded passion inspiring, and it makes it easy remembering what the team
was like before Nakamura came into their lives. He sometimes thinks the world
could be ending around them and Hinata would still be asking Kageyama for a
toss and Yamaguchi doesn’t find that weird or wrong, but comforting because
through it all they still manage to stay themselves.
For a moment, he lets himself enjoy this, but inevitably his calm is washed
over by his anxiety. Yamaguchi can’t stop his mind from traveling down the most
morbid paths, and he can’t stop himself from worrying about his future even
though he is not motivated to do any schoolwork. School is important. I’ve got
to focus. I’ve got to—I can’t focus, he thinks as pushes the heels of his palms
into his eyes. “I can’t do it,” he croaks. There’s so much he’s been trying to
avoid these past few days. He feels his body twist in agitation in a distant
sort of way, as if it belongs to someone else.
Why can’t I just get past this? Why can’t I stop thinking about Nakamura? Why
can’t I stop hearing that man’s voice in every silence? What’s wrong with me?
This skin feels so heavy and wrong. He doesn’t feel like he belongs in it. The
urge to peel it from his flesh overtakes him, and he scrunches his eyes shut
because it hurts so much. Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me.It all hurts so much,
he just wants to be rid of it. Silence pounds unevenly in his ears. The surface
of his skin burns. Don’t touch me. Just let me go.It’s as if he can feel the
hands on his body again, like he’s in that storage closet again, so he
struggles this time, promising himself that he’ll fight this time even if it’s
only with his memory. Don’t touch—let go. A newfound strength flows down to his
fingertips.
“Yamaguchi!” a voice yells. It sounds close and far away at the same time.
“Stop! Please! Wake up!”
Then he recognizes the voice as it pierces through the ringing in his ears. He
stops struggling, opening his eyes to see Hinata crouched over him, face
crumpled in fear, Kageyama standing a few paces behind, gripping a volleyball
tightly. The brunette feels his heart beat in his throat, tears dotting his
eyelashes.
“Yamaguchi?” Hinata squeals. “Were you dreaming? You really—Uh, you were
scratching yourself.”
“I—” Yamaguchi peers down and jaw drops. His arms and legs are covered in long
scratch marks, blood beading through his skin in some places and collecting
underneath his fingernails. He releases a yelp of fear. His hands did this—his
own hands. He was so caught up in his own head that he didn’t even feel it,
didn’t notice that he’d hurt himself.
How terrifying.
His mind goes crazy, frantically trying to figure what he needs to do to fix
this. Pretending like this never happened is not going to work. It didn’t work
for Suga, and so far, it hasn’t been working for him. He doesn’t know what to
do. But I have to do something. To start, I should cut my nail even shorter,
just to be safe. And I—
“Yamaguchi,” Hinata breaks through his internal ramblings. “Do you want to join
us? You could toss us the balls. It doesn’t require a lot of movement, so I
don’t think Daichi-san will mind.”
The brunette stares for probably too long, wondering how they can be so patient
and nice with him when he hasn’t been himself lately. Casting his gaze instead
at his own hands and the blood drying there underneath his fingernails,
Yamaguchi decides that he’s going to do something. He takes Hinata’s
outstretched hand and nods.
Kageyama and Hinata and Tsukki—they’re like anchors when the rest of the world
seems to be the ocean writhing under a canvas of dark storm clouds. If they
just stay the way they are, Yamaguchi is sure he’ll have something to swim back
to, something to steady himself when those memories threaten to drown him.
That night, after eating a small dinner, he enters into his room feeling tired
and lonely. The dark only presses the nauseating feelings close to his chest,
so he switches on his bedroom light.I can’t sleep. I’m scared to be alone. I
keep remembering. I keep wanting to rip myself apart. I need… I need to do
something. I’ll do something to change things. No nightmares tonight. Even if I
have to trick my brain. He grabs his laptop and sprawls out on his bed. He
finds the email Daichi sent with all the links. Looking over his shoulder as if
anyone’s there to see, Yamaguchi sucks in a deep breath and clicks on the first
link.
                                      ***
“Yamaguchi, what are you writing your paper on?” Tsukki asks during break
Tuesday morning.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Yamaguchi replies, only half paying attention to the
conversation, the other part of his mind busy counting the nicks and scratches
on his desk. It’s all he can do to keep himself awake. He succeeded in his goal
of not having a nightmare last night by not sleeping at all. An idea that
seemed to be good at the time, proved more draining than anything. He spent the
night reading self-help articles and stories written by people with the same
experience as him. There was so much to read and at first Yamaguchi felt kind
of numb to it. He wasn’t sure if the sheer number of times he read ‘it’s not
your fault’ would ever make it feel wholly true, but by morning his reaction to
seeing those words became a little less skeptical.
The personal anecdotes made him cry. The thoughts and feelings were too
reminiscent of his own to distance himself from. He cried because this happened
to so many other people. He cried because this happened to himself. He cried
because these people were officially braver than he was and Yamaguchi felt like
he was right to believe he would never reach his father’s status. I can’t even
fight the fires in my own head, let alone put my story out there to help
others.
It wasn’t until right before dawn when he realized that instead of lamenting
his lack of courage or initiative, he should feel inspired by their stories. It
was around then—eyes straining with exhaustion, but determined to stay awake at
that point—that he stumbled across the video of a poem. It wasn’t like the
predictably structured ones he had to read in Japanese Lit class, but wild and
unapologetically blunt, author speaking each word like song lyrics. That one
got him hooked—awakened a genuine curiosity in him he thought he’d lost—and he
searched out more of these poems. They were about all kinds of topics.
“What?” Tsukishima asks, surprised, drawing him back to the present. “We have
to turn in our topics and a preliminary outline tomorrow.”
Yamaguchi shrugs. Despite his breakthrough in finding something to care about,
he still hasn’t found the will to care about his assignments.
Thirty-six. There are thirty-six imperfections. What a beat up old desk. Still
sturdy though.
“Do you need help?”
“No,” he replies simply, closing his eyes lightly, remembering something he saw
somewhere about “micro-sleeps” and hoping that they’re a real phenomenon. The
back of his neck aches. He’s so exhausted he feels like his eyes are going to
pop out of their sockets, and he wants to sleep, but he’s afraid he’ll have a
nightmare and wake up panicky and sweaty.
Last night, he found some great poems, and there were more, in other languages
that he didn’t get the chance to read or watch performances of. There’s a video
he likes of this guy reciting his poem. Only, it’s in English and he sucks at
English, so he’s only been able to translate a few lines and he’s not sure how
right he is. He doesn’t trust Google Translate to do justice to the rest. After
hearing the author read his poem in such a passionate way, foreign words flying
from his mouth like birds breaking free of their cage towards the end,
Yamaguchi decided he needed to know what it all meant. He watched the poem over
and over, in awe at the man’s gestures—the way his eyelids fluttered closed and
his hands rose at certain parts, the way his eyebrows crept up and his mouth
formed the words. And the way he spoke… the way he spoke without fear or
reservations.
“Actually Tsukki, there is something I need help with,” Yamaguchi finds himself
saying, sitting up straight. A voice in his head pipes up: you’re going to
bother him with this? Do you know how troublesome it will be for him? This
situation is still redeemable if you just stop talking now. Just shut up. You
should—he cuts through the thoughts when he meets Tsukki’s gaze and finds a
rare sincerity there. Yamaguchi breathes. “But not with the paper. Um, there’s
this poem.”
Tsukki’s eyebrows rise. “Poem?”
“Yeah. I think it could help me, but it’s in English and I’m having trouble
understanding it.” The pinch server laughs nervously. His heart is racing just
from asking this favor, and he’s thinking about all the ways Tsukki can turn
him down or scoff at his desire to understand this poem.
“Okay,” Tsukki agrees, nodding. “Okay. During lunch, I’ll work on translating
this poem and you can work on finding a paper topic.”
Yamaguchi grimaces. Of course there is a condition, but he supposes he can’t
avoid it because Tsukki won’t let him fail any subjects. He’ll just have to
work hard to find a topic, and create an outline—and it’s a lot to do in one
day—but he at least has a small motivation now.
“Thanks, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says. He lays his palm flat against his composition
notebook, thinking,I’m going to get there. I will. I don’t have any idea
how—maybe it’s just wishful thinking—but I’m going to be like them. I want to
write a poem about this mess inside my brain and chest, something meant to be
read aloud without any shame or reservations holding it back. His throat
tightens just thinking about it.
That’s where I want to be.
That’s how I’ll reclaim my voice and this skin.
Chapter End Notes
     -I'm way too into slam poetry for my own good, so is Yamaguchi
***** 'It's Me' *****
Chapter Notes
     :)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Daichi spends the weekend obsessing over the photo Suga’s parents showed him on
Thursday. It seemed to be part of a longer message that was smeared. It was
shocking, seeing that kanji character written Suga’s script, in Suga’s own
blood. The kanji itself is familiar too, making up the “mura” of his name, but
he doesn’t think Suga’s message is about him, because why wouldn’t he just
write Daichi? If only he knew what the rest of the message said. What was Suga
thinking before he lost consciousness? Daichi doesn’t know that this clue has
anything to do with the setter’s rape, but seeing as it was the last thing he
wrote before what was supposed to be his death, it has to be important. What an
understatement.
Sunday night, when Tsukishima texts him to ask him to walk Yamaguchi home
tomorrow, Daichi decides to tell the blonde about the photo. It’s important
enough to maybe make a difference, and besides, two heads are better than one,
not to mention Yamaguchi may have told the middle blocker something that’s
related to this symbol. Daichi does his best to explain the situation through
several long texts, disappointed when he’s met with no response for fifteen
minutes. Even then, Tsukishima only replies with the single word: interesting.
Daichi stares at that one word, holding his breath and waiting for a second
response. When none comes, the captain’s lip curls into a disbelieving smile
and his hands ball into fists, almost too dumbfounded to be angry. After
everything I told him, that’s how he responds? ‘Interesting?’Shaking his head,
Daichi resigns himself to the fact that Tsukishima’s feigned callousness is
just a part of his personality and that it’s pointless getting offended. That’s
just Tsukishima.
                                      ***
He keeps the kanji in the back of his mind, even as he tries to act normal.
Daichi feels guilty that he’s fixating on the meaning of this one character so
much with everything that’s still going on, but that’s just where his mind goes
when there’s idle time. He wonders about it at the hospital with Suga, or at
night, or on the way to class. What the hell does it mean?
Then, at other times, his thoughts turn to the setter in general. Monday’s
afternoon classes roll around and Daichi finds himself daydreaming about Suga
waking up from the coma. Face leaning on his propped up arm, he conjures up an
entire scenario that features himself sitting at the vice-captain’s bedside,
holding his hand like usual, and then Suga opening his eyes slowly. And after
blinking a few times, he’d see Daichi sitting there and he’d smile that
sunlight smile. Daichi would welcome him back, and probably cry, and they’d
talk about everything. Daichi knows this isn’t realistic, but he still gets
really into the idea, grinning and feeling warmer.
His smile wavers when the person to his right taps him on his shoulder and he’s
suddenly yanked from his daydream. He glances around to make sure no one saw,
but everyone is already peering at him, including Nakamura-sensei, who’s
sporting an incredulous expression. A few students whisper behind their hands
to each other. Daichi braces himself, knowing he won’t have time to apologize
before the oncoming lecture.
“Sorry to interrupt what seem to be some very pleasant thoughts, Sawamura, and
I’m sorry you seem to find my lecture so boring in contrast, but you are
expected to know this for the test.” Nakamura’s tone flows from patronizing to
metallic seamlessly. “I suggest you get your head out of the clouds and pay
attention, unless of course, you’re aiming to fail. Or would you rather share
with us what you were daydreaming about?”
Daichi swallows, thinking, definitely not. He was daydreaming about his
comatose friend waking up after more than a month and their happy reunion
despite how crappy things are right now.
“Still half asleep?” Nakamura asks, apparently expecting some sort of response.
“Why don’t you stand for the rest of class? Then you won’t be tempted to doze
off again.”
“Yes, sir,” he says from his seat in the back, projecting to the front. Daichi
blows out a huge breath and rises from his chair silently cursing Nakamura’s
smirking face. What a sadist.The man didn’t have to do all this—could have just
told him to pay attention—but he loves being an asshole. He’s notorious for
being brutal and nitpicky when it comes to tests and homework and over the top
when it comes to punishments. Daichi was spacing out for a second. He remembers
when Suga actually fell asleep in class, Nakamura…
Nakamura-sensei didn’t say anything to Suga then, did he? But he did ask the
setter to stay after class. A bad feeling creeps up on him as he thinks back to
that time, remembering that he thought it was strange that Suga didn’t get
chewed out publicly. He didn’t think much of it at the time. Suga had grabbed
onto his sleeve and asked him to wait outside, and… what else? That was almost
two months ago. Daichi’s struggling to remember the details because he didn’t
think they were important then, and now his mind is shouting mura, mura, mura,
Nakamura!
He suddenly feels cold and hollowed out, his eyes fixated on the teacher at the
chalkboard, trying to discern any truth from his paranoia. Maybe it’s not
paranoia. Maybe Daichi should have been more suspicious all along. He did
theorize that it could be someone at school, and if it were a teacher—someone
in a position of power—it would be easy to get a student alone, and to threaten
them into silence with all sorts of things.
Part of him really doesn’t want it to be true, because then that would mean
he’s spent almost every day of the past two months sitting in the same room as
Suga’s rapist, as Yamaguchi’s would-be rapist. He doesn’t want it to be true
because there were other times Nakamura asked Suga to stay after class, weren’t
there? There were times when his silver-haired friend was called up to the
board and the teacher put his hands on the teen so casually. Every day Suga
came to school and had to see Nakamura.
And Yamaguchi. Daichi’s not sure how he got Yamaguchi alone with him, but it
had to have been after school last Wednesday when the freckled boy was sent to
the nurse’s office. And this bastard’s been standing here like he’s done
nothing, fucking smirking and—
Calm down. You can’t let on that you suspect anything if it’s really him. He
reigns in his heartbeat and tempers his glare.
Daichi doesn’t have any proof. Before he goes around shouting that Nakamura-
sensei’s a rapist and a danger he needs something more. One more thing. One
more thing so that he can erase the last shred of doubt and hesitance in his
own mind. If it really is Nakamura-sensei, then it’s dangerous to be around
him, but he can’t afford to rush this and mess up an opportunity to get him
locked up.
He decides.
He’ll take a day to watch Nakamura and figure out what to do next, and when the
time’s up, regardless of if he’s gained any information, he’ll tell his theory
to Suga’s parents.
                                      ***
Daichi spends the next day inventing reasons to walk past that classroom during
breaks and lunchtime. He stops short of entering until he actually has to.
After the day of contemplating, he decides that he’ll ask Yamaguchi a question,
and only one so as not overwhelm him, though he can’t settle what it should be.
It isn’t until just before entering the gym for afternoon practice that the
captain decides. He steels himself and heads straight for the freckled boy.
“Yamaguchi, can I talk with you for a second?”
The first year looks up at him with serious eyes. “Yes,” he says, folding up a
piece of paper and closing his composition book around it.
Daichi crouches down. “I want to ask you a question. Just one, and you see, I
already have a guess. I’m looking to know if my theory is right or wrong.” He
waits for a reaction, but only a slight anxiety flickers on an otherwise
guarded face. It’s been difficult reading0 Yamaguchi lately. “Before I ask you,
I want to let you know that I’m going to tell Suga’s mom my theory so that she
can take action, but we won’t ask anything else of you.”
Yamaguchi swallows hard, and, staring down, he places his hand flat over the
cover of his notebook. Eventually, he says, “Okay.”
Daichi takes a breath and asks, slowly and carefully, “Is the man who hurt you
a teacher at Karasuno?”
Yamaguchi’s head snaps up, his eyes meeting the captain’s, and Daichi feels as
if he’s been pushed hard in the chest. There’s something extremely physical
about Yamaguchi’s stare. The sounds of the volleyball court fall away as he
thinks, it has to be Nakamura. He knows the pinch server must be holding back
his own questions, but the intensity of that look is more than enough to answer
Daichi’s question.
“Yes,” Yamaguchi says, the word sounding like it jumped from his mouth against
his will. The force of it cracks through Daichi’s thoughts, causing all noise
and light to come flooding back, and it hits the teen that it truly is a
teacher, and what other teacher would it be than Nakamura-sensei? The first
year’s hand curls into a trembling fist over the notebook’s cover.
“Thank you,” Daichi says, mind starting to whir. It is someone at school. It’s
a teacher. Yamaguchi, I’m sorry. Suga, I’m sorry. For not seeing this
sooner.“We’re going to do everything we can to stop him from hurting you or
anyone else again. Will you tell the guys I’ll be right back?”
Keeping a calm mask in place even though Yamaguchi’s confirmation is acid
stripping away his composure, his legs carry him from the gym, and he finds
himself all but sprinting to the club room. Once there, he shuts the door
behind him, letting out an uneven breath in the empty silence. He dials Suga’s
mom, praying that she’s not at work right now because he needs someone to tell
him he’s not crazy for suspecting Nakamura. Is he overthinking? Or is he not
thinking enough?
“Hello? Daichi-chan?” Suga’s mom answers, voice thick with sleep.
He suddenly feels guilty about calling her with only a theory. If it wasn’t
work she was busy with, then of course she’d be sleeping given how many hours
she’s been putting in lately. Still, it is something he’s found out. Yamaguchi
confirmed it was a teacher, and no other teacher comes to mind when considering
the clue “mura.”
“Nakamura-sensei,” Daichi says, almost tripping over his words. “I think it was
Nakamura-sensei who did this.”
There’s a short pause in which Daichi—torn with this self-doubt, wanting to
help desperately—reassess all of his assumptions, thinking maybe he is crazy.
“Why do you think this besides the kanji?”
He can’t tell what she’s thinking, her voice still sleep-tinged. Daichi paces
the length of the club room, gathering his thoughts. “After Yamaguchi was
attacked, I’ve been thinking more that it has to be somebody associated with
the school. Before their rape, the last place anyone saw Suga and Yamaguchi was
at school, after school.” It ends up sounding less assured and convincing than
he planned. But he goes on, realizing how much he was blind to before. “And
it’s more likely to be a teacher because Suga was driven to the mountain and
not that many students have cars. Also, given how terrified both Suga and
Yamaguchi were about naming their rapist, it would make sense if it were
someone with power and influence.
“So, I thought it must be a teacher. Nakamura comes to mind because of the
kanji spelling of his name, and because he’s our homeroom teacher. I remember
him asking Suga to stay after a couple of times, and I don’t really know how
Suga was after that, like what condition he was in, because I wasn’t looking
out for that sort of thing.”
“No one was looking out for that sort of thing. Of course we weren’t,” Suga’s
mom says soothingly. “Is there anything else you noticed? It could be the
smallest thing.”
“I just get a bad feeling when I’m around him. He’s always got this weird smile
on his face... I don’t know. Am I crazy?”
“I think your intuition is usually sound,” Suga’s mom responds after a long
pause. “And your reasoning…”
“I asked my teammate if the person who hurt him was a teacher here at Karasuno
and he said ‘yes.’”
“Nakamura,” she says deliberately, as if invoking some kind of hex. “Okay.
Okay, I have some calls to make.”
The tone of her voice sends shivers down Daichi’s spine. “Please keep me
informed.”
“I will. Be careful. You guys stick together and stay safe.”
“We will,” Daichi responds confidently. Hanging up, he stares at his phone in
awe at how things have changed once again. Getting that call from Tsukishima
last Wednesday was difficult, to say the least, the fact that it was one of the
first years making it hurt even more. Honestly, everything about the situation
hurts. Now with this information, they can take more preventative measures, but
if it’s a teacher who is the culprit then that’s an even bigger problem.
Daichi really wishes Asahi was here to talk to. He doesn’t want to call him if
the ace’s intention really was to take a break from all this. He doesn’t want
to burden the his friend when Asahi is trying to take care of himself. Daichi
can only wish by the time the ace comes back, most of this will be behind them.
                                      ***
Later that night, Suga’s mom calls.
“I’m sorry, Daichi. I couldn’t get anything changed tonight,”she says, voice
washed in tiredness and bitterness.“The police say that the evidence is too
circumstantial, though they are adding his name to their ‘persons of interest’
list. As of now, they don’t have enough to go on.”
Daichi’s hope wanes with each word she speaks. Not knowing how to respond, he
just holds the phone tightly and nods to himself.
“I didn’t do any better when I talked to the school. They can’t do anything
without a report from the police or a complaint from a student or eyewitness.
Are you sure your friend won’t say anything?”
“I promised him I wouldn’t ask him for anything else,” Daichi says after a
pause, part of him wishing he hadn’t made that promise. He can’t break it
though. Given how much it seemed to take for Yamaguchi to say ‘yes,’ his
attacker was a teacher, it doesn’t seem likely that he’ll make an official
statement any time soon. Yamaguchi was shaking because of the simple question.
Who knows what kind of memories it brought up. Daichi sighs. “He’s scared.”
“After what Koushi did, I understand you being protective of him.”
“I’m sorry.” Daichi lies down on his bed crossways, letting his head loll off.
“You shouldn’t apologize. I’m not giving up yet,”she assures him and her voice
no longer sounds bitter.“I called a lawyer and scheduled appointment for later
this week. There’s got to be something else we can do, some loophole or
something, to get this man suspended at the very least. I just want him far
away from you kids.”
After Daichi hangs up, he doesn’t move for almost twenty minutes, not until his
mom knocks, poking her head in to remind him about dinner on Thursday. Daichi
groans and his mother shoots him a disapproving look. It turns out a week isn’t
long enough to figure your life out, though in retrospect, he hasn’t spent any
real time thinking about his future or anything far off since finding out about
Suga’s message.
“You have something decent to wear?” she asks.
“Yes,” Daichi replies, sitting up properly. He rolls out his shoulders after
having been lying in that weird position for so long.
“Daichi.”
“Hm?” he says still stretching, mind already thinking of ways to deal with all
the questions he’s no doubt going to have to face on Thursday. He should come
up with stock answers ahead of time.
“Are you taking care of yourself?” she asks, and when he focuses back on her,
he finds her scanning him as if she’s taking note of aspect of his physical
appearance.
Daichi’s taken aback by the out-of-the-blue question. His mother’s gaze is
intent, and he feels the need to live up to expectation even if it’s just an
act, so he spreads his arms wide and grins. “Yeah. I’m taking care of myself.
I’m doing great.”
His mom doesn’t even blink, just narrows her eyes and says, “Do you want to try
that again?”
The captain’s smile fades, his shoulders slump slightly, and he loses his
grandiose tone when he replies with, “I’m fine, Mom. Really.” He wants it to be
true, so isn’t that good enough? He twists the blankets in his lap as he tries
to keep his expression from falling completely into a frown.
His mother sighs, expression unreadable. “Keep working hard, Daichi,” she says
as she shuts the door. “Your father and I only want what’s best for you.”
And then the door snaps shut and Daichi’s left with this aching nostalgia. He
longs for a past when things weren’t so awkward here all the time. A past, like
middle school, when his mom didn’t work as much and the three of them laughed
across the same dinner table, and when she asked him every day, “how was your
day? How was school?” He misses the days when he didn’t lie to his parents.
When he didn’t put up this mask or these walls to hide his true thoughts and
feelings.
Everything’s changed so much.
Daichi thinks about his conversation with Suga’s mom, and a lot of their recent
conversations. As great as she is, she’s not his mom. Daichi misses the
relationship he had with his mom, and he figures it’s too late now to get that
back.
                                      ***
Tsukishima and Yamaguchi don’t show up to Wednesday morning’s practice. No
one’s talked to them, and neither first year answers when he texts them at the
end of practice. Daichi assumes they’re both together wherever they are—home,
right?—it’s just that he hopes he didn’t scare off Yamaguchi with his questions
yesterday. Nothing else could have happened in the space of a day, right?
Daichi walks to his first class of the morning worried about Yamaguchi and
lonely without Asahi. He instinctively slows his pace when passing Nakamura’s
classroom, trying to peer through the open doorway subtly. The teacher is at
his desk, marking up a stack of papers, looking like any teacher would. Daichi
supposes he’s not going to find the man rubbing his hands together and cackling
like a villain. Nakamuras avoided getting caught for all this time—of course he
won’t be obvious.
Sighing, he passes the classroom. He’s not going to be able to change anything
in class this morning, so he might as well try his hardest to pay attention and
take notes—play the good student—and when he has Nakamura’s class, he’ll worry
about things then.
The morning passes too quickly.
During lunch, he catches sight of a familiar head of hair through the window.
Guess Tsukishima showed up to school after all. Daichi takes a step closer to
the glass for a better look, expecting to see Yamaguchi there too, but the
freckled first year is nowhere to be found, the blonde instead in the presence
of Kageyama. The captain is surprised to see the two talking, and as he
lingers, they continue their conversation for a few more minutes before walking
away from the vending machines together. Daichi tells himself that he wasn’t
eavesdropping since he couldn’t hear the conversation, but he still finds it
nice that those two are talking without any signs of arguing. They’ve come a
really long way.
So, when Tsukishima shows up in his classroom during the final break of the
day, walking straight up to his desk and bowing his head the tiniest bit in
greeting, Daichi is more curious than surprised.
“Sorry for missing morning practice, Daichi-san,” Tsukishima starts, gaze
dancing around instead of focusing on Daichi. “Yamaguchi was having a hard time
and he asked if I’d stay with him until he was feeling better, and I said I
would.”
“So, he’s feeling better now?” Daichi asks. It’s what he figured, but it still
would have been nice to get a response this morning, especially since everyone
is on edge and so concerned about Yamaguchi.
Tsukishima nods. “He’s feeling a little better. He’s staying home with his
grandparents, though.”
The captain studies the younger teen, wondering if Yamaguchi told him about
yesterday. They’re best friends, so probably, which only leads Daichi to
wondering if Tsukishima already knew about it being a teacher. How much does
Tsukishima actually know? Daichi says, “Thanks for letting me know.”
The middle blocker bites on his lip, holding his hands together and looking
like there’s something else he wants to say. Daichi flicks his gaze toward the
teacher, feeling uneasy about having another one of his teammates in the room,
in the bastard’s sights, for too long. Daichi stands, placing himself between
Tsukishima and Nakamura, knowing in the back of his mind that the blonde’s
height defeats the purpose entirely, but anything he can do to limit that
bastard’s ideas is a start.
“Suga’s mom is working on things,” the third year informs, trying to sound
natural. “So, in a few days, we should see results.”
“And that’s going smoothly?” Tsukishima asks with a deadpan stare.
Daichi stops himself from asking, why are you still here? He’s not that
bothered by the first year’s presence, he just doesn’t want him in this
classroom.
Tsukishima mutters something under his breath, but says, “I just came here to
apologize for missing practice this morning, and to tell you that Yamaguchi is
okay. The King told me you were worried this morning.”
“Thanks, Tsukishima,” Daichi replies. “And I’m glad to hear that you and
Kageyama are becoming better friends lately. It’s nice to see you all relying
on each other.”
Predictably, the blonde’s eyes narrow at this and he frowns, obviously not too
keen to label Kageyama and himself “friends.” Tsukishima mumbles, “Not really.”
They’ve come a long way, but not this far it seems. Daichi smiles as the middle
blocker takes his leave, glad to be reassured that Yamaguchi is safe and taken
care of.
It takes less than a minute for his frown to settle back into place. A heavy
desperation drags his heart down into the vicinity of his stomach each time he
sees Nakamura, and it’s hard to think that this man has gotten away with so
much and still shows up to work calm and shameless. Daichi can’t stop himself
from glancing up at the teacher every few seconds even though it makes him feel
sick.
Those were the hands that left all those bruises. His was the voice that left
scars on Suga’s mind. Did that mouth smirk when he had Suga in his grasp?
Daichi wants to punch him, kick him, until the bastard’s skin is more black and
blue than normal. He wants to feel the man’s bone splinter in his grip. He
doesn’t want the man to ever smile again. He wants to see Nakamura cry. How
great would that be? And as furious as he is—as much as he wants to make
Nakamura suffer—he’s just as scared of the darkness of his own thoughts. It’s
disgusting how easily the teacher can inspire the worst in people. Daichi wants
this bastard arrested as soon as possible. He’s tired of looking at him.
A buzzing draws Daichi’s attention down to his desk where his phone is
vibrating. The edge of the screen lights up, but before he can see who’s
calling, Nakamura-sensei clears his throat loudly and says, “Would you refrain
from interrupting class, Sawamura? Do I have to remind you that your phone
should be turned off?” Daichi chews on his anger—you can’t do anything about
him right now. You have to pretend like everything’s normal.He’s about to turn
off his phone when the name on screen jumps out at him and sends a million
worries through his head.
Suga’s mom.
Why would Suga’s mom be calling him during school? Is it about Suga? Did he
wake up? Did he get worse? Daichi’s stomach drops. Is he—could he be dead? No.
She’s probably made some headway with the police or school.
The captain grabs his bag and sprints for the door before Nakamura can say
anything. Then he’s jogging down the hallway and answering the call, afraid
that it might already be too late, but the call connects and Daichi sighs in
relief.
“Hello?” he says breathless, leaning against the railing.
“You actually answered. Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”
Daichi drops his bag. That voice!He must be dreaming. He scrunches his eyes
closed and prays that he isn’t.
“Suga?” he dares to ask. And he decides that even if it is a dream, he wants to
hear more. It feels so real that he thinks he’d sacrifice reality to live here
any day because when was the last time he heard Suga speak?
“Hey, Daichi,” Suga says, still a half whisper. “It’s me.”
Chapter End Notes
     -finally I can write from Suga's perspective again
     -and stuff is happening, oh god plot, I should really work out the
     details of how shit's gonna go down, my outline hasn't forsaken me
     yet (don't mind my ramblings)
***** It's Almost Never Easy *****
Chapter Notes
     -You may be wondering, "what took so long?" Alas, my laptop cord
     broke and so did my heart alongside it.
     -You may also be wondering, "why the fuck is this chapter so long?"
     Well, you see, I'm not really sure; I just know that I'm an
     overwriter and things have gotten out of hand.
     -I'm truly sorry
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It was dark when he had first opened his eyes. Beeping, clicks, and the muffled
sounds of faraway voices started to become noticeable, like someone was
gradually turning up the volume, and he realized he wasn’t in his bed at home.
Arms heavy and immovable, he thought maybe he was strapped down, a theory made
more reasonable by the feel of wires and tubes attached to his body. Mind
unable to differentiate these medical devices from something more nefarious,
terror took the reins. Where was he? What happened? Did Nakamura do this?
Suga panicked. He flailed his limbs trying to detach himself from his perceived
restraints, body extremely weak and unresponsive to his mind’s commands. What
was wrong with him? Was he drugged? No sound came from his mouth when he tried
to cry for help.
Just then a door opened, hallway light illuminating several medical instruments
in the room, and he finally made the connection. He was in the hospital. But he
couldn’t remember being brought here. Where were his parents? And wasn’t he on
the phone with Daichi? Because he was on the mountain, and the teacher raped
him, because he got in Nakamura’s car, and a lot of everything else was foggy.
The nurse flicked on a small lamp on the other side of the room, the extra
brightness enough to make Suga squint. The woman approached his bed carefully
and with wide eyes. She asked him if he knew his name. He thought that it was a
strange question, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around it, and when he opened
his mouth to reply, nothing but a dry croak left his lips.
“Don’t worry; it’s going to be okay,” she said gently. Suga had trouble
focusing on her face. He was still extremely sleepy and felt as if he could
drift off again right then as she took his vitals, but he wanted to stay awake
so that he could figure out why she was saying weird things. “What’s the last
thing you remember? How does your head feel? It’s normal that your voice is
weak after so long not using it. It’s also normal for your memory to be hazy.
Don’t worry. Your parents are going to be so surprised but so ecstatic to see
you, and that Sawamura boy too. You’re a miracle, sweetie. This is wonderful.”
He tried to stay awake. He really did. His eyelids were just too heavy.
The next time he woke up was for longer. His mother and father were there and
they both cried when they spoke to him. The tears, his own physical weakness
and muddled mind—they confused him . After trying and trying, he managed to
form a semblance of a sentence, voice a barely understandable rasp, but
audible.
“What’s going on?”
“What do you remember about what happened?” his mother asked mildly.
Flipping back through his memories, he found his mind a jumbled mess. Suga grew
frustrated when he couldn’t recall how he got here. Whenever he tried to think
too deeply about the missing or blurry pieces, he’d grow tense and angry at
coming up empty. He didn’t even know if his parents knew about what happened in
Nakamura’s car.
“Nothing,” he croaked after a long think.
“Kou-chan,” his mom murmured, wrapping her arms around him again. “What about
the hospital? Do you remember the talk we had?”
Everyone kept asking him what he remembered. Suga’s eyebrows drew together and
he shook his head. “I don’t remember the hospital.”
His parents exchanged a look. Worried that he’d forgotten something important,
Suga tried to backpedal, but his father asked, “Do you remember talking with
Sawamura on the phone?”
Had he actually talked with Daichi? He thought maybe. His voice doesn’t rise
above a whisper when he says, “I called him. I don’t remember what we talked
about.”
“You remember making the call, but you don’t remember the conversation?” his
father clarified.
Yeah, that sounded right. He nodded. Daichi must have called an ambulance and
Suga must have passed out before it arrived and he’s now regaining
consciousness. Which meant his parents must know. That’s probably why they were
crying so much. He should explain, but can’t think of where to start.
“You’ve been in a coma, Koushi,” his father said. 
Wait, did his dad say ‘coma’?
“It’s been five weeks.”
“Five…weeks?”
“Look,” his mom said softly, showing him the lock screen on her phone, date
shining in bright white font: 16 December. Suga pulled back, confused,
convinced they all had to be pulling some kind of prank on him because the last
time he checked it was definitely November. It was ridiculous to think about.
His parents looked equal parts serious and sad.
How had he lost so much time? Coma?
“How?” was all he could manage.
His mother grabbed both of his hands in hers, eyes swimming with tears, and
said, “Kou-chan, you don’t remember, but you tried to take your own life.” Her
eyes fell to his lap and Suga followed them to be met with the sight of his own
scarred forearms stretched out. He flinched hard at the image, throat going
dry.
Yes, he had felt dirty, and stupid, and angry at himself for not fighting hard
enough—and he remembered lying on the freezing cold ground out by the water and
wishing that he could just sleep forever, but he didn’t remember doing this. He
stared at the scars.
What the hell was I thinking? he thought, those same feelings obnoxiously vying
for attention in his head.  To think I would actually try suicide? If I could
remember, then I could try to explain to Mom and Dad now. And if I said that I
don’t want to die now, would they even believe me?
Would I believe me? a dark corner of his mind whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Suga said, shutting out all other thoughts. “That I made you
worry. That I put you through this.”
“We’resorry that we couldn’t help you,” his mom replied. Both his parents
looked so damn sad that he wanted desperately to fix it, but he knew it wasn’t
something he could take back. Five weeks. He couldn’t give them back a month of
peace of mind and that knowledge was what caused tears to leak out of his own
eyes. He hadn’t wanted to cause them anymore pain but he just made it worse.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He could feel the hollow shapes of memories he couldn’t
quite place push the rational thoughts from his head, leaving him with a bunch
of wild emotions. Before he knew it, he was sobbing. “I’m sorry, Mom, Dad.”
The doctors and nurses asked him a million questions, conducted dozens of
tests, drew vials of blood. He fell asleep in the MRI. He woke up in his
hospital room, but it was brighter than before and only his mom was at his
side. She stayed with him all morning. She helped him with simple exercises,
explaining that she had done some of them for him while he was comatose.
“Tedious, but necessary for regaining grip strength, muscle density, and range
of motion,” she said when he sighed. The other nurses had said that he seemed
to be better off than expected and was expected to make a speedy recovery. The
nurses said a lot of things, so giddy and affable, and Suga couldn’t even begin
to keep up. When would the fog clear from his mind?
                                      ***
Suga sits with his arm propped up against the side rail of the bed, fingers
wrapped lightly around his mother’s cell phone, his own phone lost somewhere on
that mountain. His mother sits reading in a chair she arranged beside the
window.
The setter doesn’t remember what words were exchanged the last time he spoke to
Daichi—did he apologize for the fight and did his friend forgive him?—but he’s
so glad he’s talking to the captain again.
“Suga, you—you’re—um—”
“Awake?” Suga fills in.
“This is real, right?” Daichi asks.
“Yeah, it’s real,” Suga confirms. “Ugh, my voice. I can’t talk completely yet.”
Daichi pauses for a minute and then asks, “Does it hurt to talk?”
“Not really,” Suga replies. His whispers are pretty steady, but when he tries
to raise his voice any louder, it sounds like he's dying.
Daichi asks, softly, “How are you feeling?”
 Suga swallows. He feels confused and dazed—guilt sticking in his throat like
peanut butter, sorry for putting everyone through this, though if he’s honest,
he also feels lucky that he’s alive when he almost died. What right do I have
to feel happy after everything I’ve done? His scars are a constant reminder of
it. Unable to say all of this over the phone, he settles for saying, “I’ve had
trouble thinking straight, but this is the clearest I’ve been all day.”
Daichi doesn’t speak, breathing steady and quietly.
What is he thinking? What’s his expression like right now? “Hey,” Suga says,
overcome with the desire to talk to Daichi face to face. A month hasn’t changed
that much, right? He glances over at his mom. He probably should ask her about
this first, but he's eager to see Daichi, and maybe he’s being too forward, but
he asks, “Are you going to come see me? They said I could have one or two
visitors.”
“I’ll come right now.”
“Okay.” Suga laughs nervously. You’ve been waiting to see me for a while,
right? I sort of feel that way; all morning, I've been impatient to see you.
The nurses have been telling him about Daichi coming to visit him and Suga
wants to know how much of it is true. He wonders aloud, “Is it true that you
came every day?”
“Well, I tried.”The captain chuckles, sounding just as nervous.“There were some
days that I didn’t get to. And, uh...”
“I think…” Suga hums. I think you’re great. I’m sorry for everything I said and
for not being there for you like you always were for me. I want to see your
face and hear your voice in person. I miss you even though it feels like I’ve
only slept for a night, but it’s like my body instinctively knows I haven’t
talked to you in weeks. I miss you way more than I should. And I should be
thinking of other things right now, I know.“I think…there’s so much I want to
say when you get here. Not over the phone.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Thanks, Daichi. Thank you for everything.”
Suga hangs up and drops the phone onto the pillow. Staring at his trembling
hand and biting his lip, Suga silently curses the fact that he can’t even hold
a phone for five minutes. His mother walks over, smiling and brushing his hair
back from his face. “It’ll get better,” she tells him.
Suga doesn’t reply, content under these warm covers with his mom methodically
stroking his hair. This can't last forever, he knows, but wanting to hold onto
it for as long as possible, he keeps his eyes closed, not ready to face
everything yet. He’s honestly hoping his mom doesn't say anything else, though,
he can tell she wants to talk.
“I think it's important to say some things before you have visitors, and we
have time until Daichi gets here.”
He flicks his eyes toward his mom then. “You’re assuming he’s coming right
now.”
“Of course,” she replies instantly, all but rolling her eyes. Suga blushes at
how adamantly she says it, like she knows more than she’s letting on. Did he
say something to her that he doesn't remember saying?
“What do you want to talk about?” Suga asks, wondering if he should simply give
up all pretenses. He doesn't know if he can deal with the feelings that come
with that vulnerability.
Her idle expression is deceptive because he knows she’s reading him like a
book. She replies, “You. Your feelings.”
“Oh?” Suga braces himself.
“Firstly,” she says. “I love you.”
She's starting out easy. He smiles and says, “I love you too.”
“You can’t even begin to understand how much I love you.” She’s still so
serious. “I want you to talk to me, I really do, but if you can’t, then I at
least want to say this: Don’t let anyone tell you how to feel. Your feelings
are your own. If you feel like shit, then you feel like shit and it’s best to
face that shit head on instead of glossing over it.”
“How many times are you going to say shit?”
“Well, shit, do you want me to stop?”
“I don’t know?” he says, confused. How many times has his mom gone into bizarre
speeches like this that turn out being helpful? I guess the content isn’t
unusual; it’s just the delivery.
“Conversely, Koushi,” she continues, “you’re allowed to feel happy, and you
shouldn’t feel guilty about it. And that brings me to my next point: my
feelings are my own also. That means I’m free to feel that you’re the smartest,
kindest, bravest, most beautiful son a mother could have, and you can’t tell me
otherwise.”
“Mom…” Why can’t he believe it of himself? How can he let himself believe those
things?
She removes her hand from his hair and holds his hands instead. “It seems
you’ve been worrying about how everyone else is going to take this news.
Honestly, Kou-chan, that’s not something you can control,” she says sadly. Her
eyes are so kind, Suga feels his heart ache. “People are going to take it how
they do, and the only thing you can do is build yourself up high enough that
negativity can’t tear you down.”
Fearful of putting his true feelings out there, he shakes his head. It's
scary—and it’s hard loving yourself that much. His scars catch his eyes and he
winces, looking away and trying not to think about how much self-hatred it must
have taken to go through with it. And even if I hate Nakamura, that doesn’t
make it any easier loving myself.
“I don’t know how,” he says hopelessly. He looks up into her eyes. “I don’t
know how to believe that I’m smart or kind or any of the stuff you mentioned. I
feel… not worthy of any of this.”
I don’t know how to not hate myself.
I hate him, but I hate myself too.
“Worthy?” She chews on the word as if she doesn’t like it. She ends up saying,
“I love you and I want you here, and I will always love you and always want you
here.”
Blinking slowly and leaning back into his pillows, he stares at his mother
without words. He thinks he'll keep that in mind if he ever gets to questioning
his will to live again. My mom loves me and wants me here.
Suga plays that on repeat in his head.
My mom loves me and wants me here.
The taint of his guilty, inky feelings lifts slightly from his body. The
darkness twisting his mind and strangling his heart retreats just a bit—just
enough so that he can think calmly.
                                      ***
Sugawara Koushi is trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he’s been in a
coma for five weeks when his best friend knocks and enters his hospital room.
Tensing at how tired Daichi looks, the guilt seeps back into his bloodstream,
and, he repeats his mother's assurance like an incantation: my mom loves me and
wants me here.
Daichi smiles despite his obvious exhaustion and strides closer, dropping his
bag to the floor without a second thought as he reaches the bed. The captain’s
eyes are wide and his lips are parted, but he’s completely silent. The staring
doesn’t make him uncomfortable because he's looking just as much.
“I’m having trouble remembering,” Suga whispers, self-conscious about pushing
at the limits of his voice in front of Daichi right now. “So, sorry if I’ve
forgotten something important. I only remember up until I tried to call you.”
Daichi's eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t remember the hospital or our phone
call?”
“The doctors say the memories might come back over time, or they might not.”
Suga shakes his head. Everyone keeps asking about the hospital, but what
happened must have been really bad. “I don’t know if I even want to remember
what I was thinking,” he admits. Maybe that’s selfish of him, hoping he can
blot out the bad things from his memory when the others can’t do the same.
“I guess you wouldn’t,” Daichi says, and it’s too tiring for Suga to try to
read between the lines.
It’s weird, having this conversation when the last interaction with Daichi he
remembers is telling him that he had to miss practice because of a makeup test.
But Daichi has these other memories of them talking, and it’s so strange to
think about.
“What did I say on the phone?” Suga asks. He remembers wanting to talk to
Daichi to apologize because he didn't think he'd make it down that mountain,
yet somehow his friend found him.
Grip tightening on the bed's railing, he avoids the setter’s face when he says,
“Nothing. Or—well, you helped us figure out how to find you. Asahi figured out
how to navigate by the stars. It was crazy.” Daichi glances up hesitantly.
Suga knows there’s more—of course, there’s more—but there’s a door separating
the desire to remember and the stability of his mind, and he trusts Daichi as
the gatekeeper for now. He can’t change anything that happened in the past, but
he’s so curious at the same time.
“Daichi, how are you?” he asks, tears gathering in his eyes. He's cried so much
today, even at what should be happy moments. “I’m so sorry for the fight we
had, and making you come all the way out to find me that night, and for trying
to kill myself and leaving you to deal with the team and everything by
yourself. And still, you came to see me every day.” Suga is seriously crying by
this point. “It means so much that you’re still standing by my side after
everything. After everything…”
The captain squeezes his hand tightly, Suga doing his best to squeeze back.
“I’m not going to leave you. Not over some stupid fight, not because of what
that bastard did to you, and not because of something you don’t even remember
doing.”
There’s so much he wants to say, to get off his chest, to ask of Daichi. His
lips tremble trying to form the words and keep up with his brain. “Daichi, I’m
really sorry for what I said. I’m sure it must have been hard to admit your
feelings and I didn't make it any easier. I keep thinking about what a jerk I
was.”
The captain holds his gaze, saying, easily, “It’s ancient history.”
“It’s not to me,” Suga replies. There's definitely a question in Daichi's eyes,
one that Suga should know how to answer because he's the one pressing the
point, but he can't get the words out. Despite everything his mother said about
confronting his feelings honestly, he still finds himself hesitating.
Daichi’s phone rings.
He silences it, but the moment is broken. Suga's hand grows cold without the
other boy's there. Heartbeat returning to normal, he tells himself that now
isn't the right time anyways, and instead, he continues his line of
questioning. “How are the others doing?” he asks. Daichi’s posture shifts and
it's nothing subtle, so Suga presses, “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Exhaustion blankets Daichi's body and he throws his gaze up to the ceiling, the
fire gone from him instantaneously. Looking like he would give almost anything
to not have to speak these words, Daichi says, “Well, you see… Yamaguchi was
raped.”
Suga’s eyes go wide. He has never wanted to outright deny anything more than
what Daichi is telling him—not even his own circumstances—because to imagine
that man putting his hands on Yamaguchi is the epitome of one of his secret
fears. Everything that he experienced flips through his mind, those sickening
things burning into his mind anew and leaving a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe
it was because Nakamura had said that Suga reminded him of someone specific,
maybe it was because that he felt so alone before, but even though he feared
his friends getting hurt, he didn't really think it would come true. He thought
he was the only one.
Suga had remained silent. The teacher raped Yamaguchi. Hands shaking and chest
tight, he wishes that none of it was true, that the first year hasn't been hurt
like this and that he could rewind time.
“Suga, it’s not your fault.”
Daichi's voice barely registers with Suga. It takes him a minute to understand
it, but he doesn't know if he can believe it.
“When?” His question is just a breath. Suga coughs and finds his voice. “When
did it happen?” How soon after I tried to kill myself did that man move in on
my kouhai?
Daichi looks immeasurably sad. “A week ago.”
The setter nods, blinking slowly. “How is he doing?”
“He went to Tsukishima’s house straight away. Tsukishima’s been a big help. And
his grandparents have been a major support, as well as the team.”
“But how is he?”
“Some days are better than others. He just—he just doesn’t talk much.”
The setter's not sure who Daichi's concern is directed towards. Hopefully it's
for Yamaguchi.
Suga’s tears flow heavier. And here he had thought he couldn’t feel any worse.
He keeps imagining that man touching Yamaguchi, Suga's body growing colder,
more statue-like with each image that passes through his head—the first year
crying, the first year calling out for help, the teacher laughing. Did Nakamura
glare at Yamaguchi in that way designed to stir up terror? Did the man hit the
teen? Did he say all those degrading things to him, the things that polluted
Suga's mind until he believed them about himself?
“I want to see him. I need to see him. I want to talk to him,” he says, rasping
voice rising into hysterics that trigger a coughing fit. He covers his face
with his arms but doesn't even have the strength to bring his knees up, his
imagined cocoon of safety dissolving before it can even take shape.
“Suga, take it easy. Breathe.”
His eyes go wide as his mind races and he feels so disgusted that he wants to
throw up. “I tried to kill myself,” he says, still desperately trying to
conjure the memory from the foggiest depths of his psyche even though all it's
gained him are murky feelings of self-loathing. “I tried to die without even
saying anything and left you all to deal with the possibility of this happening
again. I should have known that he would do this. I should have known. I was so
selfish and stupid.”
“That’s not true. Listen,” Daichi jumps in when Suga pauses for a breath. The
setter didn’t think that anyone could understand his broken, raspy ramblings.
“You left behind a message written in blood.”
The gray-haired boy lowers his arms to give Daichi a look. “Message written in
blood? You’re kidding, right?”
“No. But the thing is, your message was smeared and the only readable bit was
‘mura.’” When Daichi pauses here, Suga’s jaw drops and he suddenly feeling the
urge to hide behind himself again. The captain continues, “Yamaguchi agreed to
tell me that it was a teacher who attacked him, and with that information I
concluded that it’s Nakamura-sensei. Your parents are already doing everything
they can to get him put away.”
Suga is speechless. His parents and Daichi have been trying to seek justice for
him while he was in a coma. They figured it out just from that small clue, and
furthermore, Daichi didn't pause to judge him. Did I really believe that they
wouldn't fight for me? Was I really afraid that they wouldn't stand with me?
Daichi's questioning expression slips into this grim acceptance, apparently
taking Suga's silence as confirmation of his suspicions.
“I don't know if I was supposed to tell you all this, but it's the truth, and
I’m sorry to overwhelm you, Suga, but don’t you see? After all that time you
wouldn’t say who it was, you wrote it in your blood before you fell unconscious
like you were desperate to tell someone.”
He recalls how terrified he’d he had been about people discovering it was
Nakamura, and now Daichi and his parents know, Yamaguchi knows firsthand, all
of it so surreal Suga doesn’t know what to address first. It's surely difficult
for Yamaguchi to go to school, especially since only a week has passed. He
mumbles, “He’s still at the school?”
“Yes,” Daichi responds seriously. “No one will do anything about it unless one
of his victims comes forward and issues a complaint.”
“And Yamaguchi hasn’t because I’m sure Nakamura’s threatened him into staying
silent,” Suga supplies, knowing full well that the teacher has likely said
anything and everything to get the first year to keep his mouth shut. Suga
feels the sick that's been swirling around his stomach make itself noticeable
again.
“He’s really scared. Just answering me when I asked if it was a teacher who
hurt him took a lot of resolve from him.” Daichi sighs and looks the setter in
the eye. “Your mom is doing everything she can, and since there’s no school
Friday, we figured we only had to endure one more day before the weekend. I
don’t know how much she can achieve but we’ll make it so that you won’t have to
see that bastard at school again.”
Suga bites on his lip, feeling more uneasy despite Daichi’s reassurances. His
mind is still reeling from all that's happened, all this information hitting
him so quickly that he can't get his bearings. Suga has to concentrate on his
breathing just to keep it even. He wishes he could apologize to Yamaguchi right
now.
He doesn't know how to make any of it right.
If, maybe, I had stayed and kept going to school, would things have turned out
differently? If, instead of Yamaguchi, Nakamura approached me again, then the
first year could have been spared.
But, no, that wouldn't have happened. Nakamura beat me up pretty badly. There
would have been no hiding or explaining away those injuries. With Daichi
knowing, and my parents being smart enough to figure it out, I wouldn't have
been able to continue my life like normal without the constant questions about
who did it.
It's not a secret I could have kept.
It's not a secret I should have kept.
He has to get Nakamura out of there, and no one else can do it for him. Suga
has to say it. Whatever he started writing in his own blood that night, he has
to see it through because it’s not just something that happened to him anymore.
“I’ll report it,” Suga announces then. He’s sorry that he couldn’t muster this
strength before and he’s sorry he can’t fix what's already happened. “I’m going
to report that it was Nakamura.”
“What? Really?” Daichi splutters.
Suga nods, his stomach writhing nervously, but also determined. “Yes.”
“That's great,” Daichi says, still surprised, eyes flicking through a dozen
different emotions, and Suga's struggling to keep up, head aching from thinking
about it too hard. Sleepiness suddenly descends upon him.
“My mom and dad want to keep it a secret for a while that I'm awake,” Suga
says, remembering how important his parents said this is. “I didn't understand
before, but if they already know about Nakamura, then I think they're worried
about him finding out about me being awake and trying to threaten me again or
something.” Though he says it nonchalantly, Suga's all too aware of what the
'or something' is.
“I won't say anything,” Daichi promises.
“I want to talk to Yamaguchi, but no one else can know for now. I'm sorry.”
The other boy nods.
“Daichi,” Suga says, trying to press the significance of this even though he's
so tired he might accidentally fall asleep if he blinks too long. It's just
that this guy here is the best friend someone could have and Suga will have to
work to deserve him. “Thanks for holding down the fort by yourself this entire
time, even before I, you know...”
“Yeah,” the captain replies softly, not breaking eye contact.
The way that Daichi looks back at him makes his heart beat faster. Suga
feels...important. He feels like the only thing in the room worth anything
because Daichi hasn't glanced away for even a second, and it's kind of hard to
breathe, but it also fills his body with this dizzy happiness he's not used to
feeling.
I'm allowed to feel like this,Suga thinks, reminding himself of his mother's
words. I'm allowed to feel happy.
“I missed you,” Suga feels compelled to say and Daichi startles, wide-eyed. “It
feels like I went to sleep and woke up in the space of a day, but, at the same
time, for some reason, I missed you like I was the one waiting all this time
for you.”
“Suga...”
The setter lifts his arm the best he can and offers his hand to Daichi, who
takes it without a moment's hesitation. “Is that weird?” he asks, having a hard
time keeping his eyelids open.
“No,” Daichi whispers, trying and failing to bite back a broad grin. “I don't
think that's weird.”
“Okay,” he mumbles in a halfhearted response. Suga’s eyes fall closed, but
Daichi continues holding his hand until he falls asleep. In reality, it
probably takes less than a minute, but to Suga it feels like an hour.
                                      ***
The nurses keep calling him a miracle. After a month of being in a comatose
state, chances of waking up nosedive, but he awoke. Miracle, they say. He’s
making immense progress with his physical therapy, able grip things and lift
things significantly better than most patients at his stage of recovery.
Miracle, they say again. They swarm him with their smiles and their awe, these
people he has no connection to, but for some reason they’re so glad he’s alive.
Miracle.
It’s such a contradiction to what his hazy memory lets him remember. It's only
been a day since he woke up, but he's been dwelling on it, and the only things
that have surfaced are feelings that he can't connect to any images or sound.
It’s frustrating. He's been having dreams though, and maybe there's some truth
to them, but Suga isn't holding his breath. Besides, he has enough to keep his
mind occupied without trying to analyze his own dreams.
Like the fact that he's going to turn in Nakamura.
When his parents came back in the evening yesterday, he told them his decision.
They told him they were proud, and they sat with him for the better part of an
hour while he worked up the nerve to talk to the school officials. He spoke
with the principal over the phone and told him, nearly choking on the word
“rape” when he had to say it aloud, and the school agreed to suspend Nakamura
temporarily. Within a week, Suga has to meet with a school official to give his
testimony and file an official report, a board meeting following that before
anything more permanent can take place. His mother wants him to wait until he's
stronger to talk to the police.She must think they're going to interrogate me.
Suga doesn't want to wait any longer than he already has. He really wants to
get it over with before he loses his nerve. So, he and his parents agreed on
talking to the police on Saturday. His voice should be back to normal and this
constant sleepiness should have subsided by then.
Suga has been trying not to think about it much. All I have to do is answer
their questions honestly. He's trying his hardest to ignore the anxiety he
feels when he thinks about what might come after the questions.
A knock on his door draws his attention.
Yamaguchi enters.
Suga tenses. For a moment Yamaguchi stands with the door at his back, eyes
locked on the floor, bending a composition notebook back and forth nervously.
He wonders how it happened and where it happened, but at the same time he
doesn’t want to know.  The captain’s words were obviously meant to cheer him
because Suga’s broken message was of no real help to anyone. Self-disgust claws
at his throat viciously. It’s hard facing his emotions head on because he feels
so shitty and guilty he can barely breathe and he just wants to hide. He just
wants it to go away so he can breathe, but he knows he can’t hide from
Yamaguchi after everything that’s happened, and after Suga requested to see
him. It barely registers with Suga that it's morning and thus, Yamaguchi must
be skipping school right now.
“Yamaguchi,” he says to gauge how the boy will react and when he flinches
another tiny piece of Suga's heart breaks. “I'm sorry,” Suga says, mouth
wobbling so much he's barely understandable. “I didn't think this would happen.
I didn't think he'd actually hurt anyone else. I'm sorry. I should have said
something weeks ago.”
Yamaguchi floats closer, eyes wide and haunted, but he still shakes his head,
saying, “I'm glad you're awake. We've all been so worried.”
“Yamaguchi, how are you doing?” Suga asks, trying to see through the wall the
first year has built.
After a long silence, Yamaguchi says, “You know what it’s like.”
Unsuccessfully trying to catch the younger teen’s eye, he says, “It's been a
week, right? After a week for me, I still hadn't told anyone, including my
parents. I didn't like anyone touching me. I couldn't eat and when I had to, I
made myself puke. I know what it's like for me.”
Yamaguchi doesn't speak.
“What I mean by saying this is...” Suga struggles to find the words to explain.
How does he pierce through the first year’s silence? “I know what it's like,
and I know I lied about being fine for a long time before admitting I wasn't.
Yet, you’ve opened up to people, and I want to know how you're doing. Does it
really help?”
“Suga-san, I don't know,” Yamaguchi says breathlessly, looking ready to ring
the life out of his notebook. He finally raises his gaze to Suga's face. “I
only told them b-because I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear the weight of that
secret. But, I still relive it every night. I want to peel my skin from my body
sometimes. I've only recently started reading these poems that help me feel
like I'm not alone.”
Suga knows these things all too well, especially the fear of being alone,
except Yamaguchi says he reads poems to combat this. Daichi had said that he
went straight to Tsukishima’s house, which is nearly inconceivable to Suga
because he didn't want anyone to see him after that first time. He didn't want
anyone to know, and if that meant denying himself the comfort of companionship,
then he was ready to concede that. Suga had been too scared to look into
other's stories for fear that they would make him feel worse—but he ended up
feeling completely isolated by not seeking help. He shouldn't be comparing
himself to Yamaguchi. They both experienced something horrible, and even if
their reactions weren't the same, they still understand.
There's so much to think about. There's so much going on. But right now,
Yamaguchi is here.
“He said things...” Yamaguchi whispers.
Suga's heart constricts. There are so many things Nakamura said to him that
made him feel worthless and useless, and grew like a fungus in his mind. He
doesn't want that man to warp Yamaguchi's perceptions of himself to the same
extent his were. He's trying not to be so hard on himself all the time. He's
trying not to hate himself.
“He implied that he did that to you twice,” the brunette says nervously. Suga
freezes, thinking there are some things he can't tell anyone. What else did
Nakamura say? The first year sits back looking guilty and apologetic, notebook
slipping from his hands. Mind somewhere else, it looks like Yamaguchi doesn’t
even notice the emptiness of his grasp. “I'm sorry for bringing it up, but I'm
scared that he'll come back. He said I reminded him of someone he went to
school with. I don't know what to do. I can barely talk to Tsukki; I don't
think I can talk about it to the police or anything. Suga-san, what do
you—what's wrong?”
The gray-haired setter is staring, eyebrows raised in shock.
“He said you reminded him of someone he went to school with?” Suga asks. “From
his baseball team?”
Tension thickens the air in the room, giving a weight to every word uttered.
“Yeah. He said I looked like the pitcher on his team. Did he say the same to
you?”
Suga shakes his head, muttering, “Shortstop.” He processes Yamaguchi's words.
Nakamura is going after people who look like his former teammates. In that
case, Nakamura never intended to end it with just me.Something else the teacher
said floats to the forefront of Suga's mind then, and he recalls the man
speaking about his senpai and the sexual favors they made him perform. The
shortstop and three others. If one of them was a pitcher, there could be two
other victims, probably staying silent because they think they're the only
ones. Or there could be two future victims. Either way, it's not going to stop
unless someone decides to be the first to speak up.
Suga already decided, but this news makes him sure.
“Yesterday, I decided that I'm reporting him to the police,” he says, taking a
deep breath. “My mom just wants to wait until my voice is stronger. I’m going
to talk to them on Saturday.
“Y-you—” Yamaguchi stammers. He looks really worried for Suga. “Really? You're
not scared about them saying you don't have enough evidence?”
“I'm really scared,” Suga replies. “But I have no idea when I'm going to stop
being scared.”
I was worried about that same thing. I was worried no one would believe me and
I was worried that he would come back. Well, he did come back, but there are
people who believe me, who are fighting for me. If I'm going to be scared
either way, I might as well try to take him to court, maybe make him a little
scared of me too.
There's a long silence.
“I want to,” Yamaguchi whispers, gaze eclipsed by guilt and anxiety. Suga
recognizes that same look, having seen it on his own face in the mirror
countless times. The first year frowns heavily and says, “I just don't think I
can.”
Suga's heart aches. “I get it. I do,” Suga responds, thinking back to before he
got in that car. He was so afraid to even tell Daichi. He supposes there’s
something about almost dying that’s changed something inside him. He finds
himself smiling and blinking away tears, determined to protect this boy like he
didn't before. “Let me take care of you this time, okay? I'll fight twice as
hard, for the both of us, and if or when you think you're ready to face him,
I'll support you.”
“Thank you,” Yamaguchi replies, blinking at tears too. “When the coach told us
what happened, I felt—I felt so helpless because there was nothing any of us
could do anymore. We just couldn't reach you in the end. I'm on the other side
of that now, but I'm even more confused.”
Suga's sure Yamaguchi hasn't confessed this to anyone yet by the extra nervous
lilt of his voice and trembling fingers. The boy must be so conflicted about
what happened—about how much he's deciding to lean on others versus how much
he's keeping to himself. Suga wishes he could go back and tell himself to trust
his family and friends a little bit more. Still, Yamaguchi's confession feels
several layers deep, and Suga asks, “How so?”
“I have trouble speaking,” he replies apprehensively, glancing away again. “I
know everyone cares—in theory. I know they just want to help because I just
wanted to help you, but at the same time it’s lonely even around everybody. I
feel trapped in my head, and it's like what's on the outside and what's on the
inside don't match up. I don't really know how to explain it.”
“You're explaining it well,” Suga assures. “Or, at least, I think I understand.
I felt that way too—trapped and like everything was screaming inside me, and I
ended up saying a bunch of things I didn't mean. In my frustration, I ended up
just hurting people who cared.”
“Your fight with Daichi?” Yamaguchi asks quietly and Suga nods. The first year
says, consolingly, “Everyone has fights with the people they love.”
Suga goes quiet. He knows Yamaguchi's referring to love of the platonic
variety, but he gets fidgety about the word anyways. What are his feelings for
Daichi exactly? He likes Daichi, yes, he’s sure that’s true, but is that
enough? After everything Daichi's done... But even now, I want to be with
Daichi. Putting aside words like “love” and feelings like guilt and shame,
what's left is this longing to be with Daichi, sit with him, wrap his arms
around the captain’s torso. Suga wonders what it would feel like to lay his
lips over the captain's and share the same breath for a moment.
The setter wants to slap himself. Reigning in these hopeless (or hopeful?)
thoughts, he says, “Thanks, Yamaguchi.” Some of the anxiety he'd been feeling
before this meeting has subsided, talking to Yamaguchi really opening up his
eyes about some things.
“Huh? For what?”
“For coming to see me. For cheering me up.”
An honest smile lights up the first year's face for a brief moment. “Talking to
you helped me a lot, too,” he says. He crouches to gather his composition book
from the floor where he dropped it.
“I think one of your papers went underneath that table,” Suga mentions,
pointing.
“Ah. Thanks,” Yamaguchi says scrambling to retrieve it.
Judging by Yamaguchi's protectiveness of it, the notebook isn’t just a school
book. He says, “I noticed you've been holding onto that notebook pretty
tightly.”
Yamaguchi tucks the stray sheet inside the front cover. “It’s supposed to be
for me to write my feelings in, but I've mostly been collecting poems I've
found on the internet.”  Peering down at the cover, his voice becomes more
animated as he continues talking. “Tsukki’s been helping me translate the ones
in English. My favorite right now is by this American poet Evan Knoll and it's
called 'Ode to Things He Couldn't Take.'
“You have to see him perform it to get the full effect, but there's this part
that I like. He says, 'I am learning to call my body a prayer box/that loving
it is an act of defiance against him/watching it grow skin he has never touched
and not die/grow hair he has never pulled ad not die.' Personally, I hated
myself.” He says this sentence quietly, like maybe it will be less true if he
doesn't say it entirely out loud. “I hated my skin and I often still do feel
like I don't quite belong in it. But he made me realize that the skin cells I
had that evening have all died and turned to dust. I know it's only a
technicality. I also know it's super obvious, but this is my body, not his. I
try to remind myself of that a couple times a day. It's not much. I have so
much trouble speaking and sleeping, but it helps me a little bit.”
And you have no idea how much you've just helped me. Throat tightening, Suga
reflects on this conversation and everything he's learned about Yamaguchi—and
not just regarding Nakamura, but how strong the first year is, and how
compassionate he is too. He thinks he wants to look up that poem, and if he can
get even a little bit of strength from the poet's words like Yamaguchi did,
then it would be worth the fear of the read.
“Thank you for sharing that,” Suga finally says. “I was really nervous about
hearing other people's stories because I thought they would be as depressing as
mine. I guess I should have realized there were so many different
perspectives.”
“Tsukki gave me this notebook. Daichi sent me a bunch of links for survivors.
Hinata and Kageyama always make sure I'm doing okay during practice.” Yamaguchi
holds the notebook to his chest like a long-lost friend. “I wouldn't be where I
am without support from all of them.”
“I'm glad you're talking more than when you first got here.”
Yamaguchi laughs nervously. “I should be going. My grandparents are probably
waiting for me outside.”
Feeling loneliness creep in already, Suga attempts to smile and says, “Okay.
Since I can’t have a bunch of visitors it'd mean a lot if you'd come and visit
me again.”
“Yeah, Suga-san,” the brunette says from the doorway. “I will.”
The setter watches him go, sadness battling relief, and, too tired to chaperone
them, Suga figures he’ll just wait for one to win out. He’s also grateful that
everyone's done such a good job taking care of the first year, though half of
it is Yamaguchi having the courage to accept that help.
“Koushi, you can do this,” he says out loud to himself. If he thinks of this
like that part of the poem Yamaguchi read—that loving his body and loving
himself, is an act of defiance against that man—then that should make it
easier. Nakamura wants him to feel worthless, wants him to feel like nothing,
so why should he comply so easily? Why make that bastard smile? He glances at
the scars on his forearms and fights to keep his resolve steady. He says, “This
is so hard.”
Twenty minutes later when the nurses come to help him with his physical
therapy, he feels calmer than he has since waking. He's going to report
Nakamura, which is scary, but at least he has a plan for it. His parents know
and the team knows, but he's seen how much of a help they can be. Pretty soon,
he'll be able to walk unassisted again.
He's not where he wants to be. In regard to anything. Suga reminds himself that
that's okay for now.
If he keeps trying, he'll get closer to his goal, inch by inch, day by day.
Chapter End Notes
     -When I was first outlining this fic, I didn't have a name for it for
     the longest time (it's still named 'daisuga fanfic' on my computer),
     but then I rediscovered that poem and decided I wanted to use some of
     the same themes in my story, and yeah, I decided to name it after the
     poem.
     -for anyone who's interested: https://www.youtube.com/
     watch?v=kw9GBBJIvCk
     -the next chapter won't take ten million years, I promise
***** Divert *****
Chapter Notes
     [wow, look at the time; it seems it's been approximately 10 million
     years since my last update; just like I said it wouldn't be; I
     literally have no excuse, so pay me no mind]
     <3
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Daichi's considered it before, especially back in November when he was spending
so much time at other people’s houses. He's voiced his feelings to Asahi a
couple of times, the ace always managing to talk him out of it in about a
minute, so he knows he wasn't serious back then. Now, it's different. Daichi’s
sure that no one—including Asahi and Suga—would be able to talk him out of it.
Dropping his books onto his desk, Daichi sighs, barely able to take pleasure in
Nakamura’s absence. How is he going to tell the team on such short notice? They
need a solid foundation right now, someone who can think solely about
volleyball at practice, and he can't. His head is so full of other things he
almost laughs. Now that he can actually be of help staying at Suga’s side, he’s
not going to pass up this opportunity. Daichi's tired of playing volleyball
without Suga. And it's not likely the setter will play anytime soon.
How am I going to tell them? Especially since they can't know about Suga yet.
“Hey, Sawamura,” a classmate calls from the doorway. Skidding to a halt in
front of Daichi’s desk, the boy points over his shoulder and asks, “The
volleyball team has a couple of guys named Nishinoya and Tanaka, right?”
“Yeah. Why?” The captain’s thoughts are immediately displaced, shoved aside by
worry and disbelief. Surely nothing else could have happened. Surely, there’s
no way something happened to those two. What did they get themselves into this
time?
“They were just fighting in the hallway,” his classmate says, growing more
excited by this gossip. “They caused a big commotion, and then this first year
that I think is also on your team jumped in and tried to break them up, and all
three—”
“Wait, they were fighting each other?” Daichi cuts in incredulously, standing.
Mind reeling, he asks over his shoulder, “Where?” as he rushes to the door.
Everyone is settling into their desks as the bell rings, but a few classmates
glance at him out of the corners of their eyes.
“Right outside of the principal’s office,” the guy responds with a feigned
seriousness.
Daichi knows that it’s too late to help, and he knows that any teacher he
encounters will just send him back to class. Maybe his classmate was blowing
this out of proportion, the confrontation probably similar to what had
previously happened between the libero and the ace. Nishinoya and Tanaka are
loud guys, so things naturally seem more chaotic around them. He knows all
this, yet, he runs anyways. Tensions are running high right now and Nishinoya
doesn’t know who to blame for everything that’s happened and he’s the type that
likes to confront his problems head on, so, right now must be especially hard
for him. Tanaka’s been acting like usual, the mental strength shown in matches
aiding him well. But they got one of the first years involved.
The captain is just about to head back to class when the principal’s door opens
and Kageyama steps out solemnly, nodding to someone on the other side of the
door before closing it between them. He flinches when he comes face to face
with Daichi, eyebrows shooting up, face sporting a busted lip.
“What happened?” Daichi asks, gesturing for the setter to walk with him, not
wanting to get caught dawdling outside of the principal’s office after what
happened.  
“Tanaka-san and Nishinoya-san were fighting in the hallway. I tried to get them
to stop before they hurt each other, and then the principal and vice principal
came out of their office and broke up the fight.”
It’s said simply, without any fanfare. Staring sternly into Kageyama’s eyes and
trying to discern if there’s anything he’s holding back, Daichi is met with an
unreadable expression. He asks, “But what were they fighting about?”
Shaking his head, the setter says, “I don't know.”
“What were they doing there? That's not even close to their classrooms,” Daichi
wonders aloud.
“I don't know,” Kageyama repeats.
The third year finds this situation strange—firstly, that Tanaka and Nishinoya
have been fighting, and secondly, that Kageyama hasn't blinked while recounting
the events. Maybe he's reading too much into this and looking for things to be
wrong. He doesn’t know anymore.
“Kageyama.”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Are you okay?” Daichi asks, features softening—that cut lip must hurt—and
pushing away any lingering curiosity about the second years for now.
“Yes,” Kageyama responds immediately, nodding his head enthusiastically. “It's
just a small cut. I’m perfectly fine to play.”
“Okay, then,” Daichi says, clapping the first year on the back. He supposes he
shouldn’t be surprised that being able to play is the setter’s biggest worry.
When he returns to his classroom, he finds the vice principal standing at the
chalkboard, looking flustered and angry, toupee slightly askew. After mumbling
something about the bathroom, Daichi takes his seat, the vice principal
announcing that due to Nakamura-sensei’s absence, their class will be converted
to a study hall. He gets no reply from either Nishinoya or Tanaka when he texts
them, asking about what happened at lunch. Time flies by faster than he’d
anticipated, and when the final bell rings, his heart grows heavier with every
step closer to the gym. When he walks through the doors, it hits him that this
could be the last time. He’s already decided, so why is this sentimentality
dripping down on him like rain through a leaky roof? Each memory is a raindrop,
three years worth of them suddenly bombarding him—do you remember the time, or
what about that moment, remember when…
He helps the second years set up the net and they ask about Nishinoya and
Tanaka, to which he can only speculate about a possible suspension. Ennoshita
tells him not to worry when he sees Daichi’s expression. Afterwards, he checks
in with the first years, interrupting the two middle blockers teasing Kageyama
about his face. Tsukishima’s passive aggressiveness irks him, but despite that,
Daichi lingers with their group. And he’s just stalling, wishing that they
could turn back the clock and enjoy the time they had when they were all
together, even if it were for just one day, just one last match. The longing
for that fantasy burns heavy in Daichi’s chest.
He calls for everyone's attention, feeling guilty about the varying degrees of
trepidation. With so much bad news lately, they must be worried, and even Ukai
looks slightly confused, both he and Takeda left in the dark. Inhaling deeply,
Daichi says, “So, I wanted to tell you that I'm stepping down as captain and
resigning from club effective today.” He bites his lip waiting for their
response.
Shock splinters their expressions.
“Sawamura, are you sure?” Ukai asks, tone one of calm acceptance. Daichi meets
his gaze and nods resolutely.
“B-but—” Hinata starts, looking between Ukai and Daichi.
“Why now?” Ennoshita asks, eyes searching.
Daichi grabs the back of his neck and smiles awkwardly. “It's been a long time
coming, honestly. I haven’t been the captain you all deserve,” he says even
though it’s difficult. He blinks away the memories that resurface with his
announcement. “Moving forward, I can't devote the time or the attention that I
did in the past. I think everyone would benefit if you all carried on without
me.”
None of it’s a lie, though once everyone can know about Suga’s recovery,
everything will be easier.
“That's a very textbook response,” Tsukishima says sourly.
He doesn’t contest this; he simply nods, mouth shut tight, waiting for the
others to chime in. He should have made things right with Tsukishima before he
left. There are a lot of things he should have done.
Kageyama opens his mouth to say something but Ennoshita cuts him off, saying,
“He's not wrong. It sounds practiced. Listen, Daichi. I know you've spent every
day practicing here with us even though you would have rather been at Suga's
bedside,” Ennoshita starts, soft voice tired but undercut with strength. “Of
course, that's where you'd rather be. But you were here for us—for every single
one of us. You kept us all hopeful when we were so close to falling apart. You
weren't—aren't—a bad captain.
“I know you’re hurting. I know you feel partially responsible for both Suga and
Yamaguchi, and you don’t let yourself show weakness in front of us—that it’s
something you feel you have to do as a leader to protect us, or maybe it’s a
more selfish reason, I don't know.”
A lump forms in Daichi’s throat, rendering him speechless. Everyone’s attention
is focused on Ennoshita, waiting to hear what will be said next, and it becomes
obvious how well the second year can rally people. He can lead, he’s steadfast
and level-headed, he’s kind but also stern. Daichi’s completely certain
Ennoshita will make a great successor.
“So, if you're tired and you miss Suga and you can't find any enjoyment from
volleyball anymore, then I understand. If you have to focus on school, I
understand. But don’t say we’d ‘benefit’ without you. We wouldn't have made it
through this past month without you.”
Daichi bows his head and hums, having only prepared himself for the team’s
possible surprise and nothing more. He didn’t expect to hear any speeches. He
didn’t expect for it to be this hard to get the words out, but nevertheless, he
says, “Thank you,” raising his gaze and smiling. This conversation helps dispel
any doubts he’d harbored about the team’s durability and sustainability,
Ennoshita’s passionate response and desire to keep the team a team proof of
that. Finding himself face to face with the determined first and second years,
Daichi feels proud in that moment. “I haven't changed my mind. Everyone on this
team should play volleyball because they love it and they want to be here and
not out of obligation.” And I love it a lot less when Suga's not here.“I'm
sorry this is so abrupt.”
“No worries, Sawamura,” Ukai says cautiously. It’s got to be stressful for him
too, having to keep the team on track and focused on volleyball through
everything. “I'm sorry to see you go.”
“Ennoshita, I know it's not official yet, but you'll make a great captain.” He
turns to the other members, reminding himself to be brief. “Tsukishima, take
care of Yamaguchi. Shimizu, I'll leave it to you.” You’re not going to get
emotional right now, Daichi. You can hold out five more minutes. If you cry,
then they might too, and then how will any of us stop?“I'm sorry I didn't
mention it sooner.”
Ennoshita steps forward. He bows, saying, “Thank you for everything,” and the
team bows too, echoing the second year. A slew of feelings course through him—
grief at the end of his high school volleyball career, sadness that so many
friends couldn’t be here for this moment, yet also a warm relief at having a
bit of pressure lifted from his shoulders. He’s seen members come and go. He’s
seen these first years grow and bloom into the players they are now and these
second years become so much more reliable. I need to speak with the trouble
makers. Even he’s changed. Yes, they’ve gone through more than their share of
trials and tragedies, but it wasn’t all bad—not even close.
After several more goodbyes, and repeated promises to come back and visit
often, Daichi leaves for the hospital. When he arrives, he is told that Suga’s
in the physical therapy building, working on walking.
“Should I come back later?”
“No, no,” a nurse says. “He's overdue for a break; he's just so stubborn. Maybe
you can convince him to take it easier.”
I don’t know if he’ll listen to me either.He enters the hospital room and makes
himself at home on the windowsill, happy that the setter is up and out of this
room he’s been confined to for weeks. “He’s just so stubborn.”Daichi snorts. He
wonders how much of a hard time Suga’s been giving the nurses, because when the
setter puts his mind to something, he sure is a force to be reckoned with.
About ten minutes later, Suga is rolled into the room in a wheelchair by two
friendly-looking nurses. Suga is dripping with sweat, and his arms are wrapped
close to his torso, but he’s smiling and agreeing to whatever the black-haired
nurse had said. He's still smiling when he turns to address Daichi, and the
brunette finds his throat clogged.
“Daichi,” Suga says, voice still hoarse. “I didn't think you'd be here so
early.”
Daichi freezes, mesmerized by this sweaty and red-faced Suga—a version he
hasn't seen in well over a month—the extra centimeters of silver hair making it
that much more satisfying when the setter pushes it off of his forehead. Why
does he have to be so attractive? Wow.Daichi blinks and glances away but finds
his eyes right back on his friend in a matter of seconds.
“Yeah. I mean, how are you doing?” he says, regaining his bearings. It’s
probably good that Daichi arrived earlier than usual, Suga no stranger to
overworking himself.  Suga passing out at practice and breaking his nose had
been scary, and seeing him in the hospital afterwards had been a wake-up call.
That was when everyone finally realized there was something seriously wrong. It
was a perspective change, and suddenly, it became more noticeable that Suga was
hiding something. Daichi just didn’t know why—and then…he did. “Rape” was a
word stacked on top of “bulimia” and worries like depression, so much to
process in so little time. And honestly, hearing about Suga working so hard now
stirs a bit of fear in the pit of Daichi’s stomach. It’s a little too
reminiscent, though there’s also a conflicting relief that the setter is
looking forward and working toward something tangible.
Suga says, “Tired, but I’m glad to have visitors. I talked to Yamaguchi this
morning.”
“Oh yeah?” With Yamaguchi not coming to school, Tsukishima’s been the one
keeping the team updated, assuring them that Yamaguchi’s fine and just taking
time with his family right now. Daichi leans back against the window frame.
“How was he?”
A shadow of sadness flickers across Suga’s features before being replaced by a
more neutral expression. “He was okay. I think talking helped both of us a
lot.” Suga smiles at the nurses while speaking to Daichi, saying, “I'm going to
take a bath real quick and then we can talk alone.”
“Don't mind us,” one of the nurses teases. “You can talk about whatever you
want.”
And he’s right back to thinking about Suga's body—Suga in the bath—and he kind
of wants to bang his head against the wall. He wants to stay at the setter’s
side, so he’s not keen to make things awkward right now. Reign in your
imagination, Sawamura Daichi, and focus on the important things, like how
you’re going to tell him about Nishinoya and Tanaka fighting and you quitting.
I just wish I could come to Suga with good news.
“You don't want to hear our boring talk,” Suga says as they wheel him into the
small bathroom across from his bed. “About volleyball and all of the classes I
missed.”
I just wish I had some good news.
                                      ***
Suga hates this. He hates undressing and bathing like this, but he forces
himself to laugh and smile and make conversation with these nurses—anything to
distract himself from the feel of their hands on his body or from anxiously
wondering what they're thinking of him. If he pretends that it doesn’t bother
him long enough, then it’ll come true, right? For now, he simply has to endure
it and be thankful that none of his assigned nurses are men. And that thought
gets his mind racing because he doesn’t want to think of himself as afraid of
men. He’s a man himself.
It’s justthatman. Not the others. I’m just overthinking things. I’m letting my
mind get ahead of itself.
Suga watches the soapy water ripple away from his hand as he makes a fist and
releases it repeatedly, a gesture he definitely took for granted before, but
now takes conscious effort. Staring at the little waves warp the bathwater, he
knows that there are so many other things besides walking that he must work on
to rebuild the strength he lost.
After the bath, the nurses help him dress. Daichi's still sitting at the
windowsill when he reenters the room, but Suga doesn't make eye contact,
embarrassment lingering just below his skin as the nurses lift him onto the bed
and reposition his body. Still, Suga kicks his feet, saying, “See, still
strong,” maybe to prove to himself that he could have gone a little bit longer.
So many more steps to take. So much to still do.
“And you’re going to be sore later from how hard you've worked,” says the
chatty nurse.
He smiles until they shut the door behind them, and then falls back onto his
pile of pillows, sighing. He knows it’s not their fault that he feels so
uncomfortable, and he doesn’t want to take out his own discomfort and
irritability on them. He doesn’t want to take it out on Daichi either, so Suga
takes another deep breath. “I'm so tired, Daichi, and I'm nowhere close to
being able to walk on my own.”
“It’s only been a day,” Daichi reminds him, sliding down from the windowsill.
Suga takes a third deep breath, blowing away his frustration at all the things
he can’t do right now. “I know,” he says quietly. “I can’t expect to regain
everything all at once.”
An awkward smile slips into place before Daichi drops his gaze to his feet, and
Suga knows something else is bothering him. Paying close attention to the
other's expression, he waits for his friend to be the one to break the silence.
“It’s about the team,” he finally says dejectedly, admitting, “With everything
going on, things have been rough, and communication hasn’t been great. With
Tsukishima in particular, it’s difficult to talk to him.”
Suga cocks his head, thinking. It makes sense for Tsukishima to be seriously
affected by Yamaguchi’s attack. That’s his best friend. Just look at Daichi.
The two are in the same position, but their personalities are so different that
of course they'd clash.
“Tsukishima's a perceptive guy,” Suga says. “If you've been approaching him
with an attitude of 'oh, he's so difficult; I don’t know how to deal with him,'
then he's probably picked up on that. He's probably being extra difficult just
to spite you.”
“Well, he sure knows how to get under people’s skin.”
“He likes to pick and poke at people, yeah, but just because he’s like that on
the outside doesn’t mean he isn’t actually hurting.” He’s reminded of what
Yamaguchi said about the inside and outside versions of himself not matching
up, and thinks that everybody’s like that to some extent. Suga can see Daichi’s
mind working and is hoping that the captain and the blonde can figure out a way
to patch things up. “What about the rest of the team?” Suga’s impatient to see
them all and talk to them personally. Once he’s talked to the police about
Nakamura and they don’t have to keep his condition a secret, he’ll be able to
see them.
Daichi bites on his lips, gaze hesitating and troubled, obviously trying to
find a subtle way to deliver bad news. He ends up saying it all in one go. “So,
Nishinoya and Tanaka were fighting and Kageyama got in the middle of it and
came out with a busted lip.”
Suga's eyes go wide. “What? Are they okay? What were they fighting about? When
did this happen?”
“I don't know what they were fighting about,” Daichi replies, looking into
Suga’s eyes as if for advice on this matter too. “I haven't gotten the chance
to talk to them because it happened at the end of lunch, and Kageyama didn't
know either.”
The type to want to spare others the pain and responsibility, Daichi’s probably
been trying to hold the team together himself this entire time, but sometimes
he needs someone to snap him out of his way of thinking. Suga may not be in the
position to be a support to the whole team like Daichi often is, but at the
very least, to be there for the captain…
“I also resigned from the club,” Daichi adds.
Helplessness rushes through his veins, rendering his body cold and immobile,
finding himself consumed by the thought that he might as well still be in a
coma for all that’s happening without him. Everything's changing but he's not
changing with it—not quickly enough—and he feels distinctly separate from their
world. Ah. His head hurts. Is this his fault? How much of this can he fix and
how much of it is damage already done, unable to be remedied? But, it can’t all
your fault. Everything’s not always all you fault. “You resigned?” he finally
manages to ask. “What—why didn't you s—today?”
“Yeah, today,” Daichi replies after a long silence.
“Are you regretting it?” he asks, trying to understand Daichi’s unease. Staring
at that familiar face, Suga feels a part of himself reaching out for his
friend’s world, an aching in his chest, a yearning to walk beside him again. He
wants to close any gap that may have grown between them after their fight,
after that night he doesn’t remember, after a month of being unconscious.
“I'm worried about them—the way things are right now,” Daichi says, “but I
don't think I can help with that. My head's not in it. I want to be here with
you, and I'm not saying you're the reason for quitting, it's just that I'm
tired of practicing without you there. I've done it for more than a month and
now that you're awake, I want to be by your side instead.” After a short pause,
“It’s time for the next generation to take over. You know?”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“It may be selfish of me, but I'm glad,” Suga says a little defensively. The
air is thick with all that they’re not saying—both of them. And he’s sick of
it—all of these unsaid feelings living in the basement of his mind, locked up
without being able to freely roam or breathe. Suga thinks, maybe he should
release them, give them a fighting chance. “I can’t wait to see the team, but I
know they’ll be fine. I’m happy you're going to be here with me because I
really want you here too,” he says, running a hand through his hair and casting
his gaze off into the corner. Thinking aloud, he mumbles, “She said I need to
let myself feel things.”
He nods a few times to himself and, despite the heavy atmosphere, decides that
now is the time to be completely honest. I’ll just say it to put it out there
and see how it goes. I can’t seem to get that dream I had last night out of my
head. His memories of that night are here, inside of him—he can feel them—so
close but unreachable. Suga knows that he called to apologize to Daichi that
night and he’s done it, but he knows he’ll regret not speaking his feelings for
Daichi. The dream flits through his consciousness again and he suddenly grasps
the brunette’s hand firmly.
“I really like you, Daichi,” Suga proclaims, thoroughly shocking the other boy.
How do I lead into something like that gently?Surprised at how quickly he
manages to find the words, he explains further, “I was scared to admit it
because of all that happened, and before that, when I suspected you liked me, I
figured we had all the time in the world for me to sort out my own feelings.
But things didn't work out that way, and I'm trying to explain, Daichi, but I
do like you and I want to be close to you and—” Suga cuts himself off, blushing
and holding his head with his free hand. What else were you going to say,
Koushi?
Daichi’s stunned, still as a statue, lips parted and Suga kind of wants to pull
his blankets up over his head. It’s been a month, he reminds himself. Hearing
this after so long must be weird for the brunette. He’s probably surprised.
It’s not weird that Suga’s saying this now, right?
He’s stuck trying to find excuses in this silence…
“You're not saying anything,” Suga finally points out, unable to take the quiet
anymore.
“Sorry,” Daichi says hurriedly, expression breaking into a smile that crinkles
his eyes. “I'm just really happy you're saying this.”
Biting back a sigh of relief and wanting to be closer, Suga reaches for
Daichi's face, in awe at how such a simple gesture can make the other boy's
eyes flit from shock to curiosity to wonder, color rising to his cheeks. Awe at
how he, himself, can’t ward off his own blush. However, he can’t leave it at
this. He's got to face the bad things too, and for the first time, he truly
wants Daichi's help.
“That day, Nakamura threatened me after class to make sure I'd keep my mouth
shut,” Suga says, voice thin and lacking natural inflection. “I was so scared,
but I knew you were waiting for me out in the hall. When you touched my
face...” Suga runs his thumb along Daichi’s cheekbone and the brunette closes
his eyes in a long blink. When he opens them again, the intensity of the look
sweeps Suga up, heart beating quickly—and it’s this feeling of unsteadiness
that he’d been wary of when he’d said those awful things to Daichi at school.
He realizes now that it’s not a bad feeling. It’s relinquishing a little of the
control over the emotions in your chest and trusting the other person to
cherish them, keep you grounded when you feel as though you’ll be blown away.
Gathering his thoughts, he continues, “It wasn't entirely that I wanted you to
stop. I mean, I wanted my space, but at the same time, I missed it when you
pulled your hand back. I think that's also how I felt when we argued.”
“Tell me when it's too much,” Daichi says, “Just tell me when you need your
space and I won't push you like before.”
Suga drops his hand to Daichi's shoulder. “You too. I don't want you to be
nervous about telling me things, or when you need your space too.”
“Sorry about not noticing back then.”
“That’s not your fault,” Suga replies quietly, and the ex-captain doesn’t
blink, looking like he’s checking to make sure Suga really means it. “I was
trying to keep it a secret. Part of me wanted to say something—I really did, so
many times—but I just couldn’t. The thought of even his name made me scared.”
“I think it’s amazing that you’re reporting him,” the brunette says genuinely.
He stops himself from dwelling on the fact that he should have done it sooner
and tries to accept Daichi’s compliment. “I hope you know that I wouldn’t have
been able to make this decision if it weren’t for you.” The coldness had
enveloped his body earlier has completely subsided, combatted by this blush and
these warm feelings. Tears form in his eyes. “I was so afraid that no one would
believe me. Or if they did, that they would think that I w-wanted it,” he says,
tripping on the word wanted, the memory of Nakamura making him say that
flashing in his mind. “Or that it was my fault. But you and my parents didn’t
react like that. So, thank you for believing me.”
Daichi doesn’t speak right away, gaze unfocused, and when he finally replies,
“You don’t have to thank me for that,” he looks so serious. “I’ll always
believe you.”
The silver-haired teen lets out a shaky breath.
“So,” Daichi starts slowly, left hand moving to lightly cover their joined
hands. “I know this is sudden, but since our feelings are mutual, maybe do you
want to date?”
Date. That word fills his heart with both excitement and worry. Suga wants to
say yes, yet he can't shake this anxiety of not being good enough. He feels
lacking, and he can’t justify his self-worth even in his head with the weight
of so many doubts pressing down on his heart. The more he thinks about it, the
more he thinks he needs to come with a printed disclaimer on his forehead:
“Damaged.”Simply considering voicing his thoughts causes his throat to
constrict painfully.
Embarrassment eating away at his voice, he attempts to explain. “I really like
you, Daichi, and I want you to be happy. I just don't know when I'll be okay
with, you know...anything physical. This is okay,” he says, squeezing Daichi's
hand, “and hugging, but I don't know about other—”
“Sex isn't a deal breaker, Suga,” the brunette says, sitting forward. Suga’s
eyes widen. Beneath the intensity, there’s a gentleness to Daichi’s gaze that
puts the setter at ease. “There are so many things I love about you besides
your body. If you say you're only comfortable with holding hands, I will become
the best hand holder ever.”
Suga closes his eyes.
There was a time—not that long ago—when this didn’t seem possible. Being in a
relationship, someone caring about him like this, someone looking at him like
this, seemed like a distant daydream. But Daichi’s holding his hand firmly, he
asked ‘do you want to date,’ he said sex wasn’t a deal breaker. Suga
appreciates the straightforwardness. He breathes easier knowing that he doesn’t
have to pretend with Daichi, his experience not just a weight on his shoulders
made heavier by someone else’s desire to keep things hush hush and unspoken,
but something that Daichi will help carry it too. The brunette seems to know
that it’s not something that can be brushed off for the sake of convenience.
But he still wants to be with me anyways.
Suga cracks a smile, opening his eyes even though they’re misty again.
“I will,” Daichi assures him, grinning like earlier. “You won't want to hold
anyone else's hand.”
Laughing slightly, he whispers, “Daichi?” and suddenly the name he’s uttered
hundreds of times before feels different on his lips. It’s like their
confessions have altered the weight or the tone or the shape of the syllables
in some way, and it’s strange.
“Yeah?”
Don’t think I didn’t catch you say “love.”
“I'll hold you to that promise,” Suga says instead, basking in Daichi’s warm
expression. One day I'll make you tell me what those other things you love
about me are, and I’ll ask you if my name also suddenly felt wondrously foreign
to you, but today this is enough.
Daichi lays his head down on Suga's blanketed legs, gazing up softly. “Is this
okay?”
His heart flutters. Suga surely won't survive these looks Daichi casts his way,
and he wonders when exactly they began began. Stroking Daichi’s hair slowly, he
murmurs, “yeah,” right before the brunette closes his eyes. He looks so content
in this moment, Suga can't help but stare.
After a few minutes of Daichi’s steady breathing, Suga whispers his name,
garnering no response. Smiling idly and with so many thoughts running through
his head, Suga continues caressing the other boy’s hair. “You know, Daichi, I
had a dream last night that you told me you loved me. You said it so many
times—said you felt lost without me.” Suga studies the sleeping boy's face. “I
know it was just a dream, but that gave me the courage to confess to you just
now. The truth is, I know I'd be pretty lost without you too.”
                                      ***
Daichi wakes up to his phone vibrating in his pocket. As he sits up, his
movements stir Suga, and they detach their sweaty hands, the silver-haired
setter frowning deeply. Daichi stretches, and that's when he notices food on
the bedside table. Two takeout containers and two large drinks with each of
their names written on them.
“I think your parents were here,” Daichi notes. The other boy nods sleepily and
returns to staring blankly at the opposite wall.
Remembering that his phone is what woke him, Daichi pulls it from his pocket,
finding a message from his mom which only says his name. Curiosity nudges him.
Cell service cuts out before he can even begin to compose a response to the
text. It's always like this at the hospital, so he really shouldn’t be
surprised.
“If you move two inches this way, you'll have better service,” Suga says, face
softening slightly and eyes more alert than they’d been a minute ago. “At
least, that's how it is for me.”
Daichi scoots his chair to the right and his phone instantly starts vibrating
and beeping, stopping only after thirty straight seconds. During the following
silence, the teens exchange a look and then Daichi scrolls to the first message
from his mom:
‘Where are you?’
His stomach drops. It dawns on him then, looking at all the missed calls from
both of his parents, that tonight was the dinner with his dad's friend.
Checking the time on the off chance that he hasn’t completely missed it, he
sees that it's already well past nine. Hopeless.
“Is everything okay?” Suga asks.
Daichi sighs and stands. No part of him had wanted to go, but now that he’s
missed it, Daichi feels guilty. “I missed this dinner meeting my dad arranged
with one of his old college friends,” he explains. “I think it was a big deal.”
“You should go,” the setter says. “Apologize to them.”
“I didn't want to go in the first place,” Daichi replies, sighing again, yet,
he still rushes around to grab his belongings. He’s already thinking up
excuses. Scooping up his drink and takeout box, Daichi starts to leave with
heavily laden arms, turning back in the doorway. “I'll come back tomorrow,”
Daichi promises.
It’s fortunate that there’s no school tomorrow. I don’t have to wait an entire
day to see Suga again.
“Check in with Tanaka and Nishinoya first.”
Daichi nods and smiles at his boyfriend.
Suga smiles back.
Chapter End Notes
     -I need to get this off my chest: the first draft of this chapter was
     so bad, I couldn't bear to look at it for like a month! Every time I
     went to edit, I'd get two sentences in and laugh/cry because it was
     so bad
     -And I'm not asking for compliments; I'm asking for advice: Fellow
     Writers, how dost thou combat the hopelessness and despair of editing
     utter crap??? I try to tell myself that it can't get worse, that it
     can only get better, but that mantra has failed me...
     -In other news, next chapter will see the return of some
     dramamaramamaramamahey
***** Three. Two. One. *****
Chapter Notes
     another long ass chapter; get some snacks
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Breath visible in the night air, Daichi clutches onto the last dregs of warmth
from his takeout box, having already downed his drink and stuffed his crumpled
cup in his bag. I've officially got a boyfriend now,he thinks, body a mix of
giddiness and nervousness.Given how reluctant the setter said he was to accept
his own feelings, Daichi’s sort of surprised Suga accepted his. The fact that
Suga doesn’t remember what he’d said on the phone is still strange to consider,
though he supposes it doesn’t matter now. Just, the way Suga stroked his hair
was heavenly. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.
On his doorstep, he heaves in a deep breath, coughing from the cold. He doesn’t
want to go inside just yet, but he must, though he can endure the oncoming
lecture knowing that Suga is his boyfriend. A stupid smile spreads across his
face and he hastens to hide it as he walks through the front door because he's
supposed to look apologetic.
Slipping off his shoes and padding quietly around the corner, he barely makes
it to the stairs when his mother barks his name and Daichi freezes. Apologetic;
not guilty. Just say you're sorry and hope it’s only a lecture.Schooling his
expression into something he thinks is acceptable for the situation, the teen
faces his parents.
“Where have you been? Why haven't you been answering our calls?” his mom asks
sternly, his dad standing a few paces away, arms crossed and biding his time.
They must have prearranged the parts that each were going to say.
Stepping away from the stairs, Daichi says, “I'm sorry,” and he kind of is but
kind of isn’t... “I completely forgot about the dinner tonight. I'm sorry.”
“Where were you?” she repeats, unmoved.
“The hospital,” he replies, and the matching looks of impatience that cross his
parents’ faces at this make him rush to explain. “Cell service is really bad
there, so I didn't get your messages until right now. I didn't—”
His mother's hand cuts through the air like an arrow, effectively silencing him
midsentence. “This is what we're talking about, Daichi. You're so preoccupied
with hanging around the hospital that you forget important obligations.”
“I'm sorry,” Daichi says, hating how his mom is able to use this against him,
because it’s like they were waiting for him to mess up. He’s mad at himself for
giving them this ammunition when he’s been working so hard in school for this
very reason. Daichi’s serious when he replies, “It won't happen again.”
“You're right it won't happen again,” his dad jumps in, pointing his finger.
“Because you're not going to be wasting your time at that hospital anymore.
You're going to be working at your uncle's restaurant after school to learn
some discipline.”
“Huh?” Indignation battles Daichi’s confusion, and, searching for solid footing
when he feels like the ground is slowly shifting underneath his feet, he
inquires, “What do you mean?”
“It's about time you retired from your club,” his dad barrels on dismissively.
Even though he already retired, coming from his dad it sounds callous. Wide-
eyed, Daichi, turns to his mom for support or even just further explanation.
“What we mean is that after school you will go to your uncle's restaurant and
do whatever job he tells you to for however long he needs you. You will come
straight home after that, eat dinner, and do your homework. You will learn to
keep appointments, Daichi.”
“I forgot, Mom,” Daichi argues. “It was just the one time.”
“You’re being complacent. You sit around at the hospital, you do the minimum
required studying, you go traipsing all around town, you ran out in the middle
of class on Wednesday, were late today,” his father lists angrily. “You think
we wouldn't hear about that?”
“That was—” Daichi searches for a way to explain to his parents, a way to
impress upon them how important this is to him, but his own patience is waning
and he doesn’t think they’ll ever understand. Even if they think that visiting
Suga is a waste of time, he should try to explain because he doesn’t want a
repeat of his last fight with his dad. “That—”
His mom snaps, “Stop being difficult, Daichi,” and he winces.
Just do as we say,their eyes shout.
He’s done what they said. He’s followed their wishes, too often at the expense
of his own, and it used to be painless to pretend to be the son they expected,
but it’s getting harder and harder to maintain that image. The takeout box
feels like lead in his hand, and his heart feels just as heavy. “Suga woke up,
Mom. He woke up from the coma and he's doing physical therapy because he can’t
walk, and he needs some help.”
She sighs heavily, looking more tired. “I know you're trying to be a good
friend—and you have been. You don't need to prove that,” his mother says,
and—Daichi feels like screaming—she just doesn't get it. “And we’ve let you go
all this time, but this is your future we're talking about. So, stop this
nonsense.”
“It's better this way,” his father adds. “If you keep hanging around someone
like that, people are going to say things.”
Daichi's blood boils, a bubbling concoction of disbelief and irritation. “Say
what kinds of things?” he asks, finding it difficult to form the words because
he wants to yell them.
“You know what things.” His father glares. “That you're one of those kinds.
That you prefer men.”
His face grows hot and his heart thuds erratically, yet the floor finally seems
to have stilled beneath his feet as he says, “What if I do?”
“’What if you do?’ Don't joke like that, Daichi.”
His dad's face darkness and Daichi has never felt so anxious. Throat clogged,
he grits his teeth against the overeager beating of his heart and decides he's
sick of this facade he's constructed. He says, “I'm not joking, Dad.”
“Daichi...” his mom murmurs.
“I'm gay,” Daichi manages, and maybe his secret was the lead that encased his
heart, which is why it always felt so heavy around them. He doesn’t really get
it, but it’s easier to continue now that he’s started. “I like men. And I love
Suga. I have for a really long time.”
A thick silence settles in around them like fog, and he's not sure whether
either of his parents are breathing. His mom looks like she's going to faint.
His father is the first to break the silence, voice the false calm of a barely
concealed threat. “If you apologize and go to your room, I will pretend like I
didn't hear what you said just now.”
That tone almost makes the teen take a step back, sensing more danger than
refuge in the words, yet a part of Daichi considers taking his father up on his
offer. It’s something he’s immediately ashamed of. He’s admitted it; however,
now that it's out in the open, his parents don't want to face it, his mom
looking as if she'd rather feign ignorance also. Daichi's chest aches.
“Daichi,” his dad prompts.
He was actually expecting an answer? Shaking his head slowly, he says, “I can't
change who I am.”
“I don't want you seeing that boy anymore,” his dad says, as if his son hadn't
spoken. “That little bastard is filling your head with ridiculous—”
“That’s not going to change any of this,” Daichi responds with a raised voice.
“I was gay before I met him, and I’ll keep on—”
His dad steps forward, body a flash of movement, and Daichi flinches
reflexively, expecting to be hit like last time. It's not a punch. His box of
food is knocked upwards, teriyaki sauce splattering Daichi's face, noodles and
vegetables cascading down his shirtfront and plopping at his feet. He stands
there for a second, utterly shocked, and then his dad's angry voice breaks
through his rising humiliation.
“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me,” his father growls. “If you are under
our roof, you will follow the rules your mother and I set out for you. If you
can't do that, then get out of my house.”
Daichi wipes at his face with a trembling hand, his resolve crumbling under his
parents’ glares. Is this really worth losing my family over? Am I really
worth—The takeout container and all of its spilled contents catch his eye, and
Daichi takes a breath. He’s worth more than that. He doesn’t deserve to have
his true self dismissed and tossed aside like that. I can’t go back to how I
was before. He decides, yes, my happiness is worth it.
Suga’s face flashes in his mind. There's no way he'd leave the silver-haired
teen at a time like this. Daichi recalls Suga's parents' response to his
confession—how happy and unbothered they had been about the other teen being a
guy because they just wanted their son to be loved. Daichi thinks, that's how
family should react. Not with this ultimatum. Not with this anger. Parents are
supposed to love their children unconditionally.
“Get out,” his dad says, expression a mashup of disgust and anger that makes
the teen wince. “If it's taking you that long to decide, then we don't want
you. Pack your stuff and when you leave, don't think about coming back.”
“I wouldn't want to,” Daichi says to distract himself from the way his dad said
'we don't want you' and the fact that his mother hasn't refuted a single word.
He rushes up the stairs and locks himself in his room, breathing unsteady—still
shocked, still hurt, unsure about what he's going to do and where he’s going to
go. Right now the only thing he can do is pack. Focus on that,he tells himself
as he hauls his luggage from the closet. He starts tossing clothes into his
biggest suitcase indiscriminately, moving around in the dark effortlessly.
“We don't want you.”
“Don't think about coming back.”
Those things are playing on repeat in Daichi’s mind right now and they won’t
stop. He knew they would react badly, but he didn't think it would end like
this. He chokes on a laugh that doesn’t quite sound like a laugh, unable to
escape the smell of teriyaki, his shirt, jacket, and face covered in it. He's
in too much of a rush to change out of his soiled clothes.
In addition to clothes and shoes, he stuffs as many books and magazines and
movies and random junk as he can into his suitcase, knowing there's no way his
entire room will fit. Casting one last look at everything he has to leave
behind, he braces himself before opening his bedroom door and trotting down the
stairs.
He sidesteps the messy carpet, glancing over his shoulder and briefly making
eye contact with his dad. I won’t apologize. I can’t go back to who I pretended
to be and I won’t apologize for who I am.His father's gaze is equally
unapologetic, and nothing else is said as Daichi leaves through the front door.
It's something he's done a million times before. But the finality of this time
makes him glance back from the road.
The temperature seems to have dropped another ten degrees since he was last
outside, fingers beginning to feel numb after only a few minutes. Despite that,
he walks slowly. The streets are quiet, except for the occasional car, which
causes the loneliness to surface even though he keeps trying to push it away.
Daichi walks in the middle of the street. He's alone. His parents said they
don't want him. He wonders if he'll ever see them again, because right now it
feels like this chasm will remain wide forever.
Why is it such a big deal that he missed one dinner? Why does it matter if he
wants to date a guy? He wants to believe that they didn’t mean any of it, that
they’ll change their minds in the morning, but can people change that much in
one night?
The street turns bumpy and cracked, and his suitcase gets harder to pull. What
is he going to do? Tonight is one thing, but he can't rely on other people's
kindness forever. He has some money saved up, but he'll definitely need to get
a job to get his own place. That’ll cut in on his time with Suga, which is what
his parents wanted in the first place and, fuck, he's mad that things are going
their way. He’ll make it work though, so that this time he can live on his own
terms.
When he reaches Suga's house, he's instantly alerted to the fact that the boy's
parents aren't home by the empty driveway. He settles himself on the porch,
leaning against his suitcase and not even worried about how pathetic he must
look. He feels so alone, and he just wants to talk to Suga.
His mind runs on a cyclical track. “We don't want you. Get out.” What am I
going to do? I don't want to be alone. Maybe they didn't mean it. But they
probably did. I'll be better off. I want to be happy as me. “We don’t want you.
Get out.” What am I going to do?
It's a while later when Daichi hears two cars pull into the driveway and the
voices of Suga's parents as they approach their house. Suddenly nervous about
speaking to them, he doesn't lift his head until they're practically in front
of him.
“Daichi-chan, what's wrong?” the woman asks, crouching down and placing a hand
on his shoulder. “You’re freezing! Let’s get inside.”
He feels like such a child, and he knows that he's going to have to take care
of himself from now on, but he just wants to curl up somewhere warm and cry
until he can fall asleep. He doesn't want to worry about what's going to happen
tomorrow. Daichi doesn't want to think about that yet.
“What happened, son?” Suga's dad asks quietly once they’ve sat down at the
dining room table.
“My parents kicked me out,” the brunette replies, staring at his lap. He
breathes in deep through his nose and blinks away all remnants of water in his
eyes. “I finally told them I was gay and they—they didn't take it very well.”
Nope,Daichi decides after a moment of reflection. Euphemisms and
understatements don't make this easier. Shit, you decided to do this, didn’t
you? You decided for yourself that you valued yourself more than what they
thought.
Why does it hurt this much?
“Oh, Daichi,” Suga's mom says, voice distressed. “I’m so sorry to hear that.
You can stay here as long as you like. What do you think?” she turns to her
husband.
“Stay as long as you need. You're basically family already. You've done so much
for Koushi.”
He's about to argue, tell them he’s only asking for tonight, but honestly, he’s
not sure he can figure it out by tomorrow night either. He nods, deciding to
leave it for now and the parents smile softly in return.
“Why don't you go shower. You can put your stuff in the guest room. And then
come back down to the kitchen for a bit.” The man must recognize the nerves in
the teen's eyes because he hastens to add, “You haven't had dinner, right?”
Daichi gazes down at the state of his clothes and shakes his head. So, he goes
and takes a shower. He eats some pizza Suga’s mom ordered and drinks hot
chocolate, opening up a little about the fight. Suga’s mom again tells Daichi
to stay as long he wants, saying that her son would want that too. Daichi would
love to stay here if Suga would have him. Even working, he'd still get to see
the silver-haired boy all the time. He doesn't want to get his hopes up. But
for now, he lets Suga's parents take care of him and he curls up under the
blankets in the guest room dry-eyed and slightly less scared of what tomorrow
will bring.
                                      ***
Friday flies by, and Saturday is upon Suga before he’s ready. He’s having a
hard time focusing on his morning exercises while his mind is preoccupied with
thoughts of his meeting with the police scheduled for the afternoon. Stomach
already in knots, he sweeps his gaze around his room, lingering on each empty
chair and filling them with his memories of yesterday, with the people who sat
there.
His dad dropped by early in the morning on his way to work. He didn’t stay
long, and he didn’t say much—which is how it’s been between them since the teen
awoke from his coma. His dad had apologized for apparently saying some
insensitive things hours before Suga’s suicide attempt, but the thing is that
the teen didn’t remember the event at all. Suga’s been at a loss.  He had
accepted his father’s apology because the man looked so distressed, but there’s
a sadness that has remained around the shadow of his eyes whenever they’re
alone like that.
So, his dad stayed for a few minutes, asked a few questions concerning his
physical recovery, and promised to come back for lunch. “I’m proud of you,
Koushi,” the man said seriously from the doorway. “I love you.”
His mom stayed for longer when she came. She brought him an array of sweets,
talked to the nurses for a long time about his treatment, played a round of
rummy with him. She didn’t ask him a million questions about how he was
feeling, which Suga found strange.Maybe she’s switching tactics,he thought as
she got ready to leave.
Daichi showed up just before noon looking exhausted and on edge. He didn’t say
much in the beginning, letting Suga talk about his morning and other, pointless
things, and Suga filled the silence because his chatter seemed to calm the
brunette. When Daichi finally spoke, it was quietly, hands subconsciously
playing with the corner of one of Suga’s blankets.
“I couldn’t get in contact with Tanaka. But when I went to Nishinoya’s house,
he said that they weren’t really fighting—just roughhousing—and that the Vice
Principal just blew it out of proportion.” Daichi stopped fiddling with the
blanket. He sighed and said, “He assured me that it wasn’t a big deal, just a
squabble over food. Apparently Ennoshita had already been around to scold him
too.”
“Are you sure it was nothing?”
The other teen looked to be considering it again. “I don’t see why Nishinoya
would lie about this. And you know the vice-principal has it out for the
volleyball team.”
And then he told Suga about fighting with his parents over missing the
meeting—how he told them he was gay, and how he was kicked out when he refused
to stop seeing Suga. He said they wanted him to apologize and pretend like
nothing had happened, like he wasn’t really gay. Suga bit back every indignant
retort while Daichi was telling his story, but when the brunette finished, all
the setter could say was, “I’m so sorry, Daichi.” He felt sick just hearing
about how Daichi was treated. “You can just live with me,” he then said, trying
for lightness, though he knew that this wouldn’t be easy for his boyfriend to
come to terms with. “We have the extra room, so don’t think you’re imposing or
anything like that.”
Nodding, Daichi swallowed and forced a laugh. “It’s funny. I haven’t been
spending much time at home recently, and before that, it’s not like I’ve been
particularly close with either of my parents for a while, but it still…” He bit
down hard on his lip and blinked away the tears. “It still hurt.”
“Hearing something like that from your family is going to hurt,” Suga said
softly. “It’s not your fault, though. It’s their problem. The day I woke up, my
mom said ‘people are going to take it how they do, and they only thing you can
do is build yourself up high enough so that the negativity can’t tear you
down.’ I mean, she said it to me about trying to keep quiet about the rape, but
I think it’s also true here.”
Daichi looked pensive, and then he said, “It’s been so long. I kind of feel
like I’d have to build from the ground up.”
Suga’s parents brought lunch, and the four of them ate together in that room,
talking and occasionally laughing, and it warmed Suga to see both his dad’s and
Daichi’s expressions brighten a bit. Even though there were some troubling
things happening, it just didn’t seem like they would stay that way for long.
Suga blinks. Yesterday wasn’t a bad day. He didn’t feel the stress of Saturday
afternoon like he does now. The sight of his breakfast only makes his stomach
twist further because how can he eat at a time like this? He hasn’t let himself
think about all this since deciding to report. Now the anxiety substitutes his
food, filling him so completely that the idea of eating anything off his plate
makes him gag. What if Nakamura was right about the police not believing me?
What if Nakamura was right about no one else understanding me? What if—Damn, he
feels sick. The food seems to stare back at him. I can’t eat that. What if I
get so nervous while the officer is asking questions that I puke? I can’t eat
this or lunch. I shouldn’t have eaten dinner last night either.
No, he’s going to be sick right now. Bathroom. I can at least make it that far.
Suga swings his legs over the edge of the bed, gripping the railing tightly as
his stomach swirls around dangerously inside his body. The distance to cover is
a mere five feet. The first step is fine since he’s still supporting himself
mostly with his upper body strength, but the moment he lets go of the railing,
his knees buckle and he collapses to the floor. He throws an arm out in an
attempt to catch himself but only manages to topple his breakfast plate down
with him.
Staring at the floor in frustration, tears well in his eyes. “Damn,” he
whispers. Unable to pull himself up, Suga waits for someone to help him,
feeling terribly pathetic in this moment. He’s been so confident because he
thought the scariest thing was dying and that almost happened. His gaze is
immediately drawn to his covered forearms. How is someone like him supposed to
convince the police, a court, a jury about what happened? His mom told him that
he’d had a rape kit done, but there are still other things that can go wrong.
Like what if they start asking about the first time and why he didn’t say
anything then? What if they find out he ejaculated? How much detail will they
want to go into?
I can’t do this.“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.
I can’t do it.”
“Sugawara-kun.”
Suga opens his eyes, realizing that one of his nurses is here and trying to
help him up.
“You can do it,” she says firmly and Suga’s eyes go wide. She helps him to his
feet. “Were you trying to get to the bathroom?”
He hesitates, still vaguely nauseous. Suga’s mind is chaotic right now, dark
thoughts—you should still do it; it’d be better to be empty when talking to the
police; can’t you feel the weight of everything inside; isn’t it disgusting;
get rid of it, get rid of it, get rid of it—echoing around. Feeling uneasy,
like there’s an itch beneath his skin he can’t quite reach, he shakes his head
determinedly.
She helps him into bed, wipes the floor while he cleans his sleeves, and then
she tucks him in. Suga is surprised by this—even more so when she tells him,
voice unwavering, “Keep fighting.”
                                      ***
Tsukishima Kei didn’t expect the park to be this crowded on a Saturday morning.
His gaze slides over the moms shepherding their small children down the path to
the climbing toys, the joggers looping around the park, and the cars driving
past. Maybe he should change the meeting place. Maybe this is too out in the
open. Focusing back on his phone and hunching his shoulders against the wind,
Tsukishima reaffirms his previous conviction of there not being anything
suspicious about four high schoolers meeting in a park on Saturday.
He busies himself by scrolling through twitter mindlessly, fingers growing
colder the longer he sits at that bench. His surroundings fade away so that he
doesn’t notice the person until they plop down next to him. By that time, he’s
managed to bury every grain of doubt and rekindle his anger and indignation.
Tsukishima knows he can’t be talked out of this so easily, though this
particular second year is not likely to try.
“Why’d you come so early?” Nishinoya asks, scanning the park. “You look like a
popsicle.”
Tsukishima puts his phone on airplane mode before shoving it and both hands
into his pockets. He tries to look indifferent. “I’m fine,” he says. “The
sooner we’re all here, the sooner we can go.”
“Ryuu’s coming,” the libero responds, nodding off into the distance, and
Tsukishima follows his line of sight to the figure hurrying in their direction.
There’s a part of the first year that is actually surprised that these two are
here. He’s nervous about their plans, but he doesn’t give that part of himself
any time to ruminate with those feelings. That’s pointless right now. That
won’t help Yamaguchi. His hands curl into fists in his pockets.
When Tanaka comes to a stop in front of them, the wing spiker’s expression is
concerned. “Listen,” Tanaka sighs, and the first year steels himself against
the tide of resistance he knows is coming. “I don’t know if we should be doing
this. What we did at school was one thing. This? This is actually dangerous,
you know?”
“We’ve come this far, Ryuu,” Nishinoya says, standing. Tsukishima doesn’t move.
“We’ve got a plan. We can end this.”
Tanaka looks torn.
Gritting his teeth, Tsukishima grows more frustrated and impatient with this
conversation by the second. He chose them because of their rashness and
passion. “You don’t have to come,” he says, staring daggers into Tanaka, which
only makes the second year bristle. “You did your part; I’ll give you that. But
I’m going—alone if I have to—and nothing you say can stop me.”
“Alone?” Tanaka repeats looking horrorstruck. “You’ve got to be kidding me.
Listen, you brat—”
“He’s not going to be alone.”
Tanaka turns to the libero and they exchange a long look. “Noya.” He swallows.
“Are we really doing this?”
Nishinoya nods, and then says, “I don’t think Kageyama’s coming. If he were, he
would have been here by now.”
Though it’s still early, Tsukishima agrees, and he’s silent for a minute. The
setter seemed the most resistant of the three. So what if Kageyama chickened
out? It’s easy for the setter, for Tanaka and even Nishinoya to change their
minds—to decide no, it’s all too dangerous and ridiculous. That bastard didn’t
hurt them, or their best friend. They didn’t hear the horrid, disgusting things
that man did to Yamaguchi. They didn’t sit with the boy for hours while he
cried. They didn’t see the state of his clothes, they didn’t see the fear in
his eyes, they didn’t see the tremor in his hands when he wrote out that name
and presented it to Tsukishima Tuesday night. Finally, the blonde knew who had
hurt his friend and he couldn’t just let it go.
So, yeah, that damn king is free to change his mind.
“Let’s go,” is all he says as he stands and pushes past the second years.
                                      ***
It’s still surreal to see Suga awake and talking. Yamaguchi catches himself
staring a few times and hastily looks instead to his notebook or Suga’s copy of
Monthly Volleyball on the bedside table, hoping that he won’t be asked to
explain. The Yamaguchi glances up occasionally, not following Suga and Daichi’s
conversation, but enjoying being here with them nonetheless. Even though the
sky is painted in gray outside, the white lights of this room are bright and
fill every corner.
Smiling idly, Yamaguchi flips to an empty page, fiddling with his pen. The
faint outline of script bleeds through from the last page, giving him an
impression of not completely leaving those thoughts behind. There’s four pages
like it before that one. So far, despite all of the words he’s written,
Yamaguchi can’t string the sentences together. Nothing sounds right to him.
Nothing matches with what he actually wants to say, and he’s never found words
so lacking in his life. Yet, it feels more like a challenge than something
hopeless.
“Daichi, let’s arm wrestle,” Suga suddenly chirps, and Yamaguchi almost laughs
at how out of nowhere this request it.
“What? Why?” Daichi looks just as shocked as Yamaguchi.
Suga stretches his arms, a wide grin brightening his face. “All of this
physical therapy has really been helping me regain my strength. I feel so much
stronger than I did when I woke up. I just want to test it out.”
“I’m not going to arm wrestle you, Suga,” Daichi replies. “I can’t arm wrestle
a hospital patient.”
Yamaguchi laughs lightly, unable to discern whether his senpai is being
completely serious with his request. It’s nice seeing Suga laugh and seeing
Daichi’s response. It’s been so long since he’s seen them together like this.
It makes the first year wish Tsukki were here. When he saw his friend last
night, the blonde was in a better mood than usual, surprisingly talkative and
agreeable, not bothering Yamaguchi about completing his assignments on time.
I’ll see what Tsukki’s doing after this visit.
“You could just go easy on me.”
“You would be mad if I went easy on you,” Daichi volleys indignantly.
Suga sighs, but smiles while he does, murmuring, “Yeah. Probably. How about
you, Yamaguchi?”
“Uh. I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Yamaguchi says carefully. He closes
his notebook. “What kind of exercises do you do?” he asks curiously, and Suga
explains in detail. It sounds like a lot of work just to get his body back to
being able to perform normal tasks.
The atmosphere shifts when Daichi’s phone rings. The ex-captain flinches, but
otherwise doesn’t move to answer it until Suga whispers, “Want me to check?”
Shaking his head, Daichi pulls out his phone, entire body relaxing when he
announces that it’s just Kageyama and answers it. Yamaguchi, confused by this
exchange, looks to Suga for a hint, but the other teen’s gaze is glued to
Daichi.
“Wait,” Daichi says, brow furrowed. “Kageyama. Hinata. I can’t understand
anything when you’re both talking at once.”
Suga motions for him to put it on speakerphone.
“—you idiot, Hinata. You dumbass, give me back my phone—”
“—shut up, Kageyama, I’m trying—”
“You’ll just worry him more, you moron.”
“—to talk to Daichi-san!”
“What’s going on?” Daichi asks, adding, sternly, “Kageyama, let Hinata speak.”
“Captain—er, I mean, Daichi-san!” Hinata says breathlessly, sounding as if he’s
finally succeeded in wrestling the phone away from the first year setter.
Yamaguchi can imagine it clearly. “Tsukishima, Tanaka-senpai, and Nishinoya-
senpai are planning something crazy!”
At which point Daichi, Suga, and Yamaguchi all look each other in a shocked
silence. Tsukki and the others are planning something…?A nervous flutter rises
to the freckled first year’s throat as he contemplates what that could even
mean.
“Hinata, you dumbass,” Kageyama mutters in the background.
“What do you mean? What are they planning?” Daichi’s voice is surprisingly
calm.
“They want to confront the teacher that hurt Yamaguchi and Suga-san,” Hinata
replies. Yamaguchi grows cold at the words. No. Nakamura is—no. He doesn’t want
Tsukki or any of them near that teacher. The black and white blobs on his
notebook’s cover start to bleed together as he stares too hard at it, caught up
in his thoughts of no no nonononono. No.
The freckled teen hears Daichi curse under his breath and wonder aloud, “How’d
they even know who it was?”
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Yamaguchi says, in a small voice, “I told
Tsukki it was Nakamura.” Is this happening because of what I said?The weight of
Suga and Daichi’s gazes feels heavy and the first year wants to curl in on
himself more. “The evening you asked me if it was a teacher—that’s when I told
him. I thought I sort of felt a little better afterwards, so when Tsukki came
over to my house that evening, I thought I’d try talking to him. So, I was the
one who told him, but I didn’t think he’d—”
“It’s not your fault,” Suga says soothingly. “It’s a good thing that you were
able to open up to Tsukishima, okay? Don’t think that you shouldn’t have
spoken, because I’m glad you did. It took me so long.”
“If Tsukishima had found out on his own, it wouldn’t have changed his actions,”
Daichi adds. “Now, what—”
“Was that Sugawara-san?” Kageyama asks in astonishment.
Suga’s eyes go wide at his mistake, but he promptly regains his composure,
expression more serious than ever. “Yes, it’s me. I know it’s really
surprising, but right now we need to focus on what’s going on. Kageyama?”
“Yes,” the younger teen replies immediately, while Hinata sings in the
background, “Suga-san is back! Suga-san is awake! Suga-san! Suga-san!”
“Why did you try to keep Hinata from telling Daichi? Do you know more about the
other three’s plan?”
“It was meant to be a secret between the four of us,” Kageyama admits after a
long pause. “No one else was supposed to know.”
Yamaguchi swallows. Tsukki didn’t let on that he was planning anything. But
maybe that’s the real reason he asked me not to go to school this week. Maybe
that’s why he wasn’t pestering me about my homework last night—because he had
other things on his mind. Tsukki. What are you thinking?
“Go on, please,” Suga says and the younger setter sighs.
“Tsukishima talked to me at lunch on Wednesday—said he knew who had hurt
Yamaguchi and Sugawara-san, that it was a teacher at Karasuno. He said that
there was no one to speak out against Nakamura-sensei, but if we could make him
confess then we could turn him in. He said, ‘what if that asshole went after
Hinata next?’ And it could happen. To any of us. So, I agreed to help him.”
“Kageyama, were you worried about me?” Hinata asks in a voice full of awe. When
the setter doesn’t respond, he says, quietly but still indignant, “I’m older
than you, you know. You don’t have to protect me.”
Yamaguchi thinks of how desperate Tsukki must have felt to ask Kageyama, of all
people, for help. And with something like this. Tsukki, how come you’re doing
something so stupid? I don’t want you to do something stupid because of me. I
don’t want you to put yourself in danger.Yamaguchi tries to call his friend,
but it immediately goes to voicemail. Dammit, Tsukki. He wipes the tears from
his eyes before they have the chance to fall.  
“What do you mean by ‘make him confess’?” The stress and worry in Suga’s voice
is unfiltered.
Kageyama coughs awkwardly, and everyone in the hospital room practically sits
on the edge of their seats. He replies, “Make him confess by force. Tsukishima
said ‘by any means necessary.’”
“Daichi,” Suga says suddenly, sending a look that’s packed with alarm and
several other unspoken things.
“I know,” the third year replies, not breaking eye contact with Suga. “Even if
Nakamura didn’t fight back, the fact that they concocted and executed a plan to
ambush someone, no matter the reason, could be really bad for them if the
police got involved.”
“We have to stop them.” The third year setter’s expression is so pained,
Yamaguchi finds himself mirroring it. He dials Tsukki’s number again, only to
have it go straight to voicemail like before. If he could just talk to Tsukki,
he could change his mind, convince him that this is a crazy, dangerous plan.
Well, there’s no guarantee he could stop his friend, but if he at least had the
chance to try.
“I’m assuming they’re doing this soon?” Daichi asks. He moves to stand but is
pulled back down by Suga.
Suga says, “If you move right now, the call could drop and who knows if we’ll
be able to contact them again right away.”
“They’re supposed to meet at 11:30,” Hinata answers. “At Kanda Park.”
“Shit. It’s already 11:11,” Daichi mutters.
“Kanda Park is close,” Suga says. “It’s only about ten minutes away.”
Please, let them be okay,the pinch server prays.
“I’ll text you Nakamura’s address, in case you don’t find them at the park,”
Kageyama says.
“How in the hell did you guys find out his address?” Daichi asks, dumbfounded.
“Tsukishima snuck into the principal’s office and found it in the teachers’
files.”
“So that fight?”
“It was a diversion so that Tsukishima could get the address.”
Daichi sighs, blowing away all external unease. “Okay. Send me the address, and
you two stay put. I’ll call you again after everything’s sorted out. Just
promise me that you’ll stay there.”
He waits for them to agree and then hangs up, staring at his phone in silence
for a full thirty seconds before looking up. Yamaguchi is speechless, gripping
his own cell like a lifeline. He knows that if he tries to call again, he’ll
just be left with the same result, and that thought leaves a bitter taste in
his mouth that he can’t swallow away.
Suga is the first to move, throwing off his blankets, a fire in his eyes the
first year hasn’t seen in a while. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed.
“I know what you’re thinking, Suga, and it’s ridiculous,” Daichi says
immediately.
“And I know what you’re thinking,” Suga fires back, shaking his head. “Damn
you, Daichi, if you think I’m going to let you go by yourself. I can’t just sit
back anymore while you’re all in danger.”
“Suga, you can’t even walk!”
The first year follows their argument like a tennis match, feeling like he
shouldn’t be here but also wanting to stop them from fighting. He knows how
badly both of them were hurt after their last disagreement, and he doesn’t want
that to happen again, but he doesn’t know if he should say anything. He wants
so badly to help Suga; they just need a plan.
“I know there’s a time limit,” Suga says then, passionately. “I know I’ll just
slow you down, and I probably should let you go on your own, but I can’t. I’m
scared for you, and Nishinoya and Tanaka and Tsukishima.” The desperation is
evident in his expression and voice. “But honestly I’m the most scared for
myself. I’m afraid I’ll continue being this passive person—like how I just went
to school and pretended like nothing had happened, even when I saw him every
day, even when he touched me again. I don’t want to get used to staying silent.
I don’t want to get used to hiding from him and having other people fight my
battles for me. I have to at least be there.”
“How?”
“I have an idea,” Yamaguchi pipes up, fighting against all of the thoughts in
his head that say, scathingly, it’s a stupid idea; you don’t know what you’re
talking about; they didn’t ask you. “We need a wheelchair for Suga to use.
Since the nurses on this floor know the three of us and would be suspicious of
us asking for one, we’ll have to get it from the floor below and sneak it up
here. Then sneaking out with Suga will be hard, since the nurses’ station is
right next to the elevator, but there’s a set of stairs down the hall to the
right all we have to do is go down one flight and then we can take the elevator
from there, where no one recognizes us.”
Suga’s silent, searching Yamaguchi’s face for something, and the first year
becomes nervous about the reception of his plan, until the silver-haired teen
asks, “So, you’re coming too?”
Yamaguchi nods, saying, “I don’t know if Tsukki will listen to anybody but me
right now.”
Suga smiles, resolute. “We have a plan on how to get out of here.”
“Okay,” Daichi agrees.
Catching the ex-captain’s sleeve again before he can rise, Suga says, “I wanted
to talk to you privately.” He looks to the first year. “Yamaguchi, do you think
you can get the wheelchair? Daichi’ll help me with my shoes and stuff.”
Yamaguchi blinks and nods resolutely, turning away from the questioning gaze
Daichi sends Suga’s way. Things seem different between those two. Well, now’s
not the time to be pondering it.Shaking his head as he strides down the hall
past patient rooms and scurrying nurses, he reviews their hasty plan. Get
wheelchair, sneak Suga out, meet up with the guys, convince them to rethink
their plan.Yamaguchi breathes deeply. We can do this. If we’re lucky, we can
get to them before they get to that house.He doesn’t want to consider the
alternative just yet.
Obtaining a wheelchair and bringing it back up to Suga’s room proves easy,
almost suspiciously so. Once Suga is settled in, Daichi gets behind to push and
Yamaguchi sticks his head through the doorway to make sure the coast is clear.
After a minute of watching doctors and patients and visitors walk by, he sees a
lull in foot traffic, and—hoping that one of Suga’s nurses won’t randomly pop
out of a neighboring room—glances back at the other two.
“Go.”
Chapter End Notes
     -so, a bunch of stuff happened, huh? (i say as if i didn't
     orchestrate this)
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
