It takes Suga three embarrassing minutes to work out that, contrary to intuition, the key fits the other way into the lock. When he finally gets the door open, it’s with a slump of relief against the doorframe, a momentary reprieve before he drags his suitcase inside and sets it at the foot of his new bed.
The dorm is sparse, but there’s room for improvement. The bedclothes can be changed, the pinboard can be covered with photos and assignment notifications and souvenirs, and the pins can be arranged into a smiley face when they’re not in use. The windowsill is perfect for pot plants, and the shelves will look much better with some textbooks on them.
To the left is a second door, and Suga thinks to himself, right, shared bathroom. He crosses his fingers as he closes the main entrance behind him. With any luck, his bathroom buddy will be someone clean. Suga has more bottles of hair product in his suitcase than he’d care to admit, but he’s willing to take up less shelf space if it means an accommodating cohabitation.
He puts off checking the bathroom until later, though.
When the door had been open, it’d obscured the closet, so Suga starts by getting all of his clothes out of his suitcase and onto hangers. He writes his name on the nameplate that was in the envelope with his keys and sticks it to the front door. He unmakes and remakes his bed, just to get a feel for it.
He can’t pinpoint why he’s still so nervous about the shared bathroom, but he reasons it’s probably some deep-seated only child thing, that he’s only ever lived so close to his parents—even sharing a bathroom with a dozen other boys at training camps wasn’t as personal as this.
Steeling himself with a deep breath, he curls his fingers into fists and then unclenches one to open the bathroom door. It’s not locked, so there must be no-one inside. Come to think of it, had he even seen a nameplate on his neighbour’s door? Maybe they’re not in yet.
Something catches Suga’s eye, though, a post-it note stuck in the middle at the bottom of the mirror. He has an instinctive and repulsed reaction, ripping the note off the mirror before it can damage the surface.
It reads: Good morning neighbour! To the left is my half of the sink, and to the right is yours! Let’s have a good year with a tidy bathroom!
The tone is innocent enough, but Suga’s still annoyed about the adhesive on the mirror, so he dashes back into his room and digs around in his suitcase until he finds a stack of post-its, packed at his mum’s insistence, “just in case there’s no pinboard in your room, Koushi, I know it says there will be, but you can never be too prepared.”
He writes out a short message and sticks it on his neighbour’s side of the mirror. It’s not his most eloquent, but it’ll do—it’ll have to do, because his phone alarm goes off, buzzing on the surface of his new desk, reminding him that his induction seminar is in fifteen minutes. He locks the bathroom door on his side, and then double-checks it.
The medical student induction turns out to be on the other side of campus, and Suga’s almost late for all the time it takes him to find his way to the lecture theatre. There’s a text sitting on his phone from Yaku—the only person from their Tokyo training camp he’s kept in regular contact with—saying he’s saved a seat near the back. The lecturer’s already started talking when Suga works up the courage to slide in through the door—he shouldn’t have worried, though, because the theatre is so large and so full that no-one bats an eyelid.
“Did you get lost?” Yaku asks in a whisper.
“Not really,” Suga lies. “There was a problem with my shared bathroom.”
“Don’t tell me,” Yaku says, “messy neighbour?”
Suga glances down to the front of the theatre—there are plenty of people chatting, and the lecturer hasn’t even noticed. “The opposite, actually,” he says. “I was perfectly prepared to get along, but he left a passive-aggressive message on a post-it note on the mirror about dividing the shelf space, so I wrote a message back and then put my stuff on exactly half of the shelf.”
“That sounds like less of a ‘problem’ and more of a cold war,” Yaku says. “And you have no idea who this person is?”
“None at all,” Suga says. “There’s no nameplate on the door yet, so he really could be anyone.”
Yaku frowns. “Well, don’t let it get to your head. The last thing you need this year is a distraction like this.”
Suga gives him a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
And if he can convince himself, Suga won’t worry about it either.
Suga’s been getting back to his dorm later and later with every passing day. Term’s only just started, and already he’s been consumed by assignments—and the cold war in his shared bathroom.
Suga only knows his elusive neighbour as Tooru, which is what’s written on his nameplate. Tooru is very concerned about cleanliness, and apparently doesn’t trust Suga with cleanliness, because he’s been moving all their stuff on the shelf about a centimetre towards Suga’s door every day. Suga’s taken to waiting two days, and then moving it all back. They’re never in at the same time, either—Suga has tried knocking on Tooru’s door a couple of times, but he’s never around during the day, and at night Suga never gets back until it’s too late to disturb anyone.
Most nights, he goes back to Yaku’s place to study. Yaku lives close to the uni and the contents of his fridge are always infinitely more pleasant than whatever the college dining hall has to offer. It’s not doing much for Suga’s plan to really turn his dorm into a second home, though.
At least tonight Yaku’s hanging out with a friend, so Suga gets back to his dorm early and locks himself in to finish an assignment. It’s not due for a few weeks, but Suga likes starting early, for however long that inclination will last.
There's a new post-it note in the bathroom, too, next to a splodge of shaving foam on the edge of the sink: Don't forget to clean up after yourself, Koushi-kun!
Suga sighs loudly enough that Tooru would be able to hear him if he was next-door. Ever since Suga made the mistake of referring to Tooru by name he’s had to deal with this unusual familiarity. The only other people who call him “Koushi-kun” are his aunts and uncles. A couple of times, he's come close to leaving a note that says CALL ME SUGA!!!
Instead, he just wipes away the foam with a bit of toilet paper and scrunches up the note, relegating both scraps to the bathroom bin, which has seen more post-it notes than anything else.
He leaves a note in reply and goes back to his assignment, and that seems to be that.
Then, at about eight-thirty, he hears the a laugh from the bathroom. It’s a loud, pretty laugh, the kind that would probably charm Suga into laughing back if it was coming from someone in the same room. Suga jumps at the sound, his chair creaking against the floor. After that, he sits frozen still as he hears the sound of pen on paper—a reply, he presumes—and then the sound of the shower running.
Usually, Tooru showers at ridiculous o’clock in the morning when Suga is still in bed and trying to get some sleep. It strikes Suga as a little weird that he knows Tooru’s schedule so intimately, and yet knows nothing about him. It’s kind of sweet, though, kind of domestic, the sort of friendship they have. Finding notes in his bathroom has become something regular for Suga, and he likes regularity, likes being able to have something, even something small, that he can come back to while the rest of the world moves around him.
It does worry him, just a bit, that he’s started thinking so fondly of someone who is still essentially a complete stranger.
Picking up his phone, he scrolls through his contacts, wondering who would be the best choice to text about this. Somehow, he can hear both Daichi and Yaku in the back of his head, saying “What the hell?!”—so, Asahi it is.
(To: Asahi) Hi! How’s work treating you? Can I ask you a personal question?
(From: Asahi) Work is… well, stressful, I guess. Do you want to call?
Suga glances at the bathroom door—the shower’s running pretty heavily, so it’s a risk he can probably take.
“Hey, Suga, what’s up?” Asahi greets him.
“It’s a long story, and I don’t know how long I’ve got,” Suga says, quickly and quietly.
“Why are you whispering?” Asahi asks. Suga can practically hear the raised eyebrows.
“My neighbour’s in the shower, and I don’t want him to hear me talking,” Suga says.
“Is this the guy with twice as many hair products as you?”
“Yeah,” Suga says, lowering his voice even further. “Asahi, have you ever had a crush on someone you’ve never properly met?”
“Huh?” Asahi says. “Um, I don’t think so? Is this still about your neighbour?”
Suga looks at the bathroom door again. “It is,” he admits. “We’ve been corresponding—don’t laugh!—we’ve been corresponding with post-it notes. He’s really, um—”
“Ah! Sorry!” Asahi says apologetically. “I only laughed because you’re making it sound so serious! I know you’re usually the one telling me to relax, but, Suga—if you think you like him, you should just talk to him.”
“What if I don’t like him, though?” Suga muses. “What if, when I talk to him, it turns out that he’s actually really annoying to be around?”
“Good point,” Asahi says. “Oh, no—what if he’s creepy? Suga, that would be awful. Maybe you should just stick to post-it notes.”
Suga laughs. “I knew I could count on you to talk me out of doing anything stupid, Asahi.”
“Y-yeah,” Asahi says. “Suga, stay safe, okay?”
“I will,” Suga says, as he hears the shower being switched off. “I have to go now, but thank you!”
“Any time,” Asahi says. “I think.”
Suga hangs up and takes a deep breath as he puts his phone down on his desk. He can still hear Tooru pottering around in the bathroom. He really hopes Tooru knows what he’s doing, because he sure doesn’t.
Suga’s first party at uni is a third-hand invitation from Yaku, who was invited by Kuroo, who was invited by some other friend of his. He gets the feeling that somehow city parties will be different from country parties, that he’ll end up caught in a swarm of strangers and swept away in a torrid one-night romance.
So maybe he’s overthinking it a bit—either way, it’s the biggest social gathering on his agenda outside of biology labs, and he’s sort of excited. Excited enough to arrive early, at least, but Yaku and Kuroo are already there, which is comforting.
The house’s living room takes a while to fill up, but when it does, it’s buzzing. Suga stays close to the people he knows, though. There are a couple of guys from Fukurodani there who he recognises, but somehow they all manage to be social butterflies. Bokuto chats to the three of them for a bit, but while Kuroo’s gone to get drinks he disappears to chat to another old friend he hasn’t seen in forever.
“Two lemonades, and a ginger beer for me,” Kuroo says, handing Suga and Yaku a can each upon his return. “Hey, where’d Bokuto get to?”
“He saw a friend,” Suga says.
“Another one,” Yaku adds. They share a look.
Kuroo stands on his toes and looks back over the crowd—he’s tall enough to actually be able to do that. “Never underestimate Bokuto’s power to—oh, hey, is that—just a second—”
With that, he’s gone, leaving Suga and Yaku to stare awkwardly after him.
“You know,” Yaku says, “I really hate parties.”
Suga laughs a bit nervously. “I’d feel a lot more comfortable with fewer people here. Back home, parties were never like this.”
“I keep forgetting you’re from the middle of nowhere,” Yaku jokes. “Honestly, though, I only really invited you so I’d have someone to talk to. Somehow, I’ve managed to only make friends with extroverts.”
“We could just leave early,” Suga suggests, “since we got here so early. Anyway, I promised Daichi I’d skype him sometime. Do you want to come back to my dorm, and we can call him and pretend we’ve been out misbehaving?”
“You’re a fundamentally silly person,” Yaku says, and it sounds more like a compliment than an insult. “Okay. Let’s get out of here.”
It’s not a long walk back to campus, and they dawdle a bit by the vending machines, stocking up on snacks for the evening. Once they’re back in Suga’s dorm, he boots up his laptop and goes quickly to the bathroom—at least, he means to be quick, but there’s a new note from Tooru.
This time, it’s stuck to the shower door, slightly too high for Suga to reach without standing on his toes: I hope you don’t mind me putting notes on this glass! I just want to make sure you haven’t been using my shampoo. It’s been running out faster than usual!
He hasn’t really told anyone apart from Yaku and Asahi about the post-it note thing, and Asahi is the only one who knows he’s nursing a weird crush on his neighbour. He’s got to go back into his dorm and face Yaku, and he’s not about to tell him that the reply he’s going to write will have definitively crossed the line from Joking to Flirting.
“Is this your weird neighbour again?” Yaku asks as Suga picks up his post-it pad and a pen.
“Yeah,” he says, not looking up from his note. “He’s kinda fun.”
“You’re blushing a bit,” Yaku points out.
“Thanks,” Suga says, still not looking up. He quickly puts the note on the shower door and then then locks his bathroom door behind him, turning his full attention to his laptop. It’s not long before Daichi pops up on the screen, and he’s got a friend with him.
“Bad timing?” Suga asks.
“Don’t worry about it,” Daichi says. “Iwaizumi and I were just getting some study in before our quiz tomorrow.”
“Right, right,” Suga says. It’s still sort of weird to him that Daichi’s become such good friends with someone from Seijou, but Suga can’t really talk, spending all his time with ex-Nekoma students. At least he and Yaku have been getting to know each other for almost a year—what’s weird about Daichi hanging out with Iwaizumi is that apparently they hit it off right away.
“Oh, hey Yaku,” Daichi says. “Are you two studying as well?”
“Not likely,” Yaku says. “We just got back from a party.”
“Bit early, isn’t it?” Iwaizumi chimes in, looking up from the textbook he’s holding.
“It was a bit tame for us,” Suga says, “so we left.”
“You hear all these stories about med students,” Daichi says, “about how they—”
He’s cut off by Iwaizumi’s phone ringing. “Sorry, it’s Oikawa,” he says, bringing the phone up to his ear. “Hold on—I’ll be back in a minute.”
Daichi rolls his eyes as Suga hears the sound of a door closing in the background. “Anyway,” he says, “I hope you two aren’t getting up to anything too out-of-order.”
“No, Captain,” Suga says. “What is this, training camp?”
“Yeah, well,” Daichi says grumpily, “it’s not like you were the paragon of good behaviour at training camp.”
“You don’t need to worry, Sawamura,” Yaku says, shoving Suga in the arm, “I’m making sure he stays in line, and doesn’t get too distracted by anything.”
“Yaku—” Suga warns, but it’s too late; Daichi’s picked up on his tone.
“Oh yeah? What sort of things are distracting you, Suga?”
“Nothing,” Suga says—he says it too quickly, though, and mentally curses himself. “I mean, nothing serious.”
“He’s been flirting with his next-door neighbour,” Yaku says
Suga jabs him in the side. “Yaku! I have not!”
Daichi rests his chin in his hands. “Ah, young love,” he says. “What’s he like?”
“That’s the thing,” Yaku says, in between being tickled to death by Suga, who is out for vengeance. “They haven’t actually—”
Yaku cuts off as Iwaizumi runs back into Daichi’s dorm, throwing his phone down on the bed and then pouncing on Daichi’s laptop. Suga only registers what’s happened when he sees their mouths moving but doesn’t hear anything from the speakers—Iwaizumi’s cut off the microphone, and he seems to be talking very quickly. Daichi breaks down laughing for a bit, and then replies, and it goes on like that for almost three minutes.
“What just happened?” Yaku asks. “Is this normal in Miyagi?”
“This isn’t normal in any universe, never mind any prefecture,” Suga says. “Why didn’t he just close the laptop if he wanted privacy?”
Yaku glances at his watch. “Well, I’d better be heading off,” he says. “I’ll catch you in class on Monday, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Suga says. “I’ll see you then.”
After a minute, Daichi is back online, and it looks like Iwaizumi’s left his room.
“Sorry about that,” Daichi says, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye.
“Is everything alright?” Suga asks. “What did I just witness?”
“Just some weirdness with Iwaizumi,” Daichi says. “He, um, I guess he felt uncomfortable telling you, but needed to get it off his chest… ?”
“Alright,” Suga says, even though it doesn’t really make sense.
After that, they go back to talking normally. They catch up like this every so often, and it’s just what Suga needs right now—he manages to distract himself from any thoughts of Tooru, and when he finally goes to sleep that night, he’s satisfied that he has nothing to worry about.
A month and a half after moving into his dorm in Tokyo, Suga finally puts his finger on what had initially bothered him about the idea of a shared bathroom. The thing is, each door to the bathroom has two locks—one facing the bedroom, so you can stop your neighbour from waltzing in when they please, and one facing the bathroom, so you can stop your neighbour from trying to come into the bathroom when you’re busy.
A couple of times, Suga’s accidentally left the door locked on Tooru’s side, but he’s remembered pretty quickly and unlocked it so that Tooru could get into the bathroom. And a couple of times he’s forgotten to lock the door from his room so that Tooru couldn’t get in—although, why would anyone do that without knocking?—but again, it’s never been for long.
Now, though, it’s six-thirty in the morning, Suga has a class at eight, and he can’t get into his own bathroom.
First, he tries banging on the bathroom door. It’s still early, so he’s sort of aware that he’s going to wake other people up, but Suga’s never been a morning person. He wakes up after a shower. And if he can’t get into his bathroom, he can’t shower, so he bangs even louder.
There’s no response, so he hangs his lanyard with his keys around his neck, slips on a pair of sandals, and slings a towel over his shoulders to keep himself warm. He steps out into the drafty corridor and knocks on Tooru’s door.
“Tooru,” he calls, leaning with his forehead against the door. “Tooru, please, wake up. I need to shower.”
And then he remembers—Tooru, unlike Suga, is a morning person, showering at the crack of dawn for whatever unholy reason drives him to wake up that early. He’s probably not even in his dorm anymore. He’s probably one of those people who goes for jogs. He’s probably halfway across the city right now.
Well, however long it takes, Suga resolves to wait. It’s not like he’s never gotten ready in a rush. There’s still an hour and a bit until his class starts. He can skip breakfast if it means having a warm shower. He slumps down with his back against Tooru’s door, crosses his legs and folds his arms, and waits.
Somewhere along the line, Suga starts to doze off—he can feel his head drooping forward and his eyes closing, and he tries to fight it, but it becomes too tempting just to shut his eyes tightly and—
“What are you doing here?!”
Suga jumps to his feet at the sound of a stranger’s voice—he suddenly wonders if, in his tiredness, he stopped in front of the wrong door.
“I was locked out of my bathroom,” he says.
He rubs his eyes, and then he looks, looks properly at the person standing in front of him, hands on his hips and an accusing scowl on his face, and this can’t be Tooru, Tooru who leaves post-it notes on bathroom mirrors and uses way too much aftershave, because this is Oikawa Tooru, appearing as a sort of spectre, less human and more nightmarish memory from Suga’s high school volleyball career that he was never too keen to revisit.
There are lots of people called Tooru, Suga tells himself. He opens his mouth to say something reasonable, something rational, something that he would have said with a cool head to reassure his old teammates.
What comes out of his mouth is, “Oh.”
This Tooru doesn’t look anything like the frightening opponent from Seijou—he just looks like a normal boy, like Suga, except maybe more awake. Like Suga, he’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt, only Tooru’s clothes are for running, not sleeping. Like Suga, he’s got keys around his neck on a lanyard. Like Suga, he’s got a look on his face like he’s seen a ghost.
“Why are you outside my door?” Tooru asks. “I mean, why are you in Tokyo?”
“I go to uni here,” Suga says. “Why are you outside my door?”
“This is my door,” Tooru says, gesturing. “You are literally standing outside my door.”
“Sure, but my door’s right next to yours,” Suga says. The words leaving his mouth are not the perfect sentences in his head, but he hopes they get the message across.
Tooru’s face falls. “Please don’t tell me your name is Sugawara Koushi.”
“Okay,” Suga says, stepping aside. “You can go in now.”
“This is definitely not happening,” Tooru says, blinking. “I am dreaming. I dreamt that I went for a run, and now the dream is combining the fact that you’re in half my classes with my thing for my next-door neighbour. That’s fine. I’ll wake up soon.”
As Suga watches Tooru take his lanyard off and unlock his door, he feels like he’s being dragged kicking and screaming into awareness. He’s pretty sure that, first of all, Tooru said they share half their classes—but wouldn’t Suga have noticed?—and second, that he mentioned a thing for his neighbour, which would mean that the neighbour who Suga has a thing for also has a thing for him, and is also someone in half his classes, and is also someone he knows from high school.
It’s way too much to take in.
“Can you unlock the bathroom door for me?” Suga asks.
“Of course,” Tooru says. “This is a lucid dream. I’m going to unlock the door. Sorry that I locked you out of the bathroom in a dream. Next time I fall asleep I’ll be more careful.”
Suga lets out an involuntary laugh as he goes back into his own dorm and stands in front of his bathroom door. He thinks back to that night a few weeks ago, when Iwaizumi got a call from Oikawa—from Tooru, Suga’s mind corrects—while he was in Daichi’s room, and how he came back in and turned off the microphone, and how they went on to laugh about something for the next three minutes. Suga is pretty sure he was the butt of that joke.
The bathroom door swings open, and for all that the bathroom floor is elevated slightly, Tooru is even taller than he usually would be, and he’s looking down on Suga with a look of confusion and frustration. Suga recognises it almost too well—the last time someone looked at him like that, there was a net between them.
“I’m not dreaming, am I?” Tooru asks.
Suga reaches out and pinches his arm.
Without a word, Tooru leaves the door hanging open, turns around and walks back into his bedroom, shutting the bathroom door behind him. Suga stares after him.
“Well,” he says to the empty bathroom, “what am I supposed to do now?”
Every day, Suga picks something from Tooru’s side of the shelf, and something from his side, and swaps them around. By now, it’s muddled enough that there’s no more clear line down the middle, and that they end up reaching across each other to get to their things—Suga doesn’t mind, though.
He doesn’t mind that they keep the doors open now, moving between each others’ rooms like it’s nothing, even though they keep such different hours. They at least share their biology and chemistry lectures, but Tooru is at volleyball almost every evening, and even some mornings when he’s not running, so Suga tries not to stay up so late studying. It’s a tough habit to break, but he’s getting there.
He’s still getting used to it all—the introductions more than anything, hearing Tooru say, “This is my boyfriend,” and even the fact that Tooru stubbornly refuses to call him “Suga.” It’s still settling in, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it’s the sort of the opposite.
“Well, you got there in the end,” Kuroo says, when Tooru “officially” introduces Suga to his volleyball friends. “And that’s what matters.”
“No thanks to you,” Tooru says. There’s a slightly icy edge to his cheeriness, so Suga nudges him.
“Look,” Bokuto says, “everyone’s happy, so I’m happy! And you should be happy too, Kuroo!”
“I am happy,” Kuroo says, his voice flat—he can only hold a straight face for a few seconds, anyway, before breaking into a smile.
Tooru doesn’t hang around for long after that, dragging Suga away. “Come on, Koushi, we’re getting a late dinner.”
“Is that a threat or an offer?” Suga asks.
“After that,” Tooru says, acknowledging Suga with a smile but choosing to ignore that thread of conversation, “I’m going to properly introduce you to Iwa-chan, and you can introduce me to Sawamura-kun.”
The introductions are only because they’ve had just over a week of this—a week of sharing each others’ space and calling it a “relationship”—but they’ve kept it to themselves, barely leaving their dorms unless they had to. At least by now, Suga’s dorm feels more lived-in. He’s got assignments and notices tacked to his pinboard, flowers on the windowsill, and textbooks lining his shelves. There are clothes on the floor—some of them Tooru’s—and the bathroom is a mess.
It’s everything Suga’s ever wanted.
They get something to eat at a small restaurant just off campus, and sit in the corner with their knees touching under the table.
“You know,” Suga says, “I’ve been marking off days on a calendar since I moved to Tokyo.”
“How long has it been?” Tooru asks.
“Fifty-seven days,” Suga says. He looks down at the table—sometimes, he’s so overwhelmed that he can’t meet Tooru’s eyes.
“I hope you’ve been marking days since our first date too,” Tooru says.
Suga looks up specifically to pull a face at him. “We’re not going to become one of those couples who celebrate an anniversary every five hours, are we?”
“I’m not saying you have to become one of those people,” Tooru says, his tone light and flippant, “but I’m going to need someone to keep a record for me.”
“I genuinely don’t know if you’re joking or not,” Suga says.
“Well, it’s only been eight days and thirteen hours,” Tooru says. “We’ve got time.”
Suga sighs, his grin falling into a more relaxed smile. “Does it feel fast?” he asks. “Does it feel like this is too sudden?”
Tooru leans back in his seat, just a bit. “Sometimes I think that if I don’t move fast, I regret going slowly.”
“I hope you’re not like that when you play volleyball,” Suga jokes.
“Sometimes,” Tooru says, shrugging. “But then, you were always the type to be more calculated, weren’t you?”
“I suppose so,” Suga says. “You saw me on court—”
“You were frustrating!” Tooru says. When Suga laughs at him, he practically pouts. “I’m serious! Targeted serves are annoying.”
Suga raises an eyebrow at that. “Where do you think I got the idea?”
Tooru is wide-eyed in astonishment. He puts a hand to his chest. “From me? No way, Koushi. I won’t accept this.”
“If you insist,” Suga says. “But, Tooru, you know that I’ve been aware of you longer than I’ve been aware of you, right?”
“That makes no sense,” Tooru says, “but you’re cute, so I’ll excuse you.”
That’s the other thing Suga’s getting used to—Tooru gives lots of compliments, and he does it with a lot of things, but his tone changes when he’s complimenting Suga, becomes more serious, and it never fails to catch Suga off-guard. He still doesn’t quite know how to react, so he kicks Tooru under the table.
“I’m still getting used to you,” he tells Tooru. “Things might not make sense while that happens. Just bear with me until it does, okay?”
“I can do that,” Tooru says. “In fact, it’d be my pleasure.”
“Alright,” Suga says. “Then, how about we leave this restaurant and get a bit better acquainted?”
Maybe it’s not quite traditional, and maybe it’s sudden, but it’s the best decision Suga’s ever made.