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time to concede

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There’s no easy way to make introductions. Tobio knows this, knows that his first impressions are often the worst they could possibly be, but it’s different now. Now he has purpose, he has worth. It isn’t the same as volleyball ever was, because this time he’d been scouted– by a headhunter, one of the best in Tokyo– and that has to mean something on its own.

Tobio strolls in past the rain dampened trees that line the sharp edges of concrete, a building made of cement and mirrors, and stops for a moment to wonder in quiet awe at how clear he can see out the windows once he’s inside. The drip of the rain from drooping tree branches into the manufactured pond that lines the walkway, even the sliced wet stain where the overhang suddenly stops protecting the concrete from the weather– outside looking in, you couldn’t see anything.

“Kageyama Tobio?”

Tobio turns away from the windows, catches sight of the receptionist rounding her desk. He nods at her politely, trying to loosen the tension he knows is tightening his mouth.

“This way,” she says.

The building is vast and seemingly new, and Tobio only catches brief glimpses that are not nearly long enough to decipher more than a vague feeling behind the structure. Modern furniture, clean painted walls, the quiet, muted patter of feet on thin carpet. It even smells new, acrylic and hollowly clean, and Tobio only has a moment to ponder what that might mean if this company doesn’t do well for itself– what kind of pressures he might face here at a company less than a decade old– before he has to stop himself from running into the receptionist’s back.

“They will meet with you momentarily,” she says, gesturing into a bright conference room with fogged glass walls and a burnished steel table that looks like it’s been recycled from a shipyard. Tobio thinks of dragging a coffee mug across its surface and cringes.

The man from human resources, Iwamura-san, comes in before he can properly sit down, and takes his hand in a firm grip.

“You’ll be great, kid,” he whispers discretely before sitting, and Tobio isn’t sure which part of that prickles at his skin uncomfortably– the implication that he may not be great, or the expectation that he will.

He’s so caught by the notion that they’ve already been discussing his performance before getting a chance to see it first hand– which, of course, that’s Iwamura’s job, really– that he only hears the tail-end of his trainer being introduced.

“–Koushi, Lead developer and your in-house trainer.”




He looks different.

It’s the first thing Tobio notices in the long stretch of time he takes to catalogue his former teammate. Suga seems younger, if at all possible. His hair is less wild than it was in highschool, a little longer and tucked neatly behind his ear, but tamed in a way that makes his face seem thinner– softer, even, more delicate. Tobio’s eyes flick to the mole beneath his left eye, an identifying mark, as though making sure it really is him, and it hits him– he should be more shocked than this, to see Suga in the same place as him after almost ten years, but maybe fate has its purpose, maybe they never really were all that far apart before.

“They didn’t tell you my name?” Tobio says, and flinches. He should introduce himself, show respect and restraint, but familiarity is a novelty in a world made of shiny, new things.

Suga’s smile overtakes almost his whole entire face, thinning his eyes, lips stretched wide over bright white teeth.

“No,” Suga says warmly, shaking his head in disbelief, as he pulls Tobio toward him.

Tobio stiffens as Suga embraces him, resting a shaky hand on the center of Suga’s back and cautiously flicking his gaze towards their HR rep, who’s currently watching them with his head tilted in curious amusement.

“You know each other,” he says, pointing to them both, smug as though he’s solved a great mystery, and Tobio has to bite down the urge to say ‘obviously’.

Suga pulls away, gripping Tobio by his shoulders. He still has to look up to meet his eyes– even more so now, Tobio hit a late growth spurt in his third year, once Suga had already left.

“Yeah,” Suga says, and the way he squeezes Tobio’s shoulder feels deliberate. He’s speaking to Iwamura, but looking directly at Tobio. “We went to high school together.”



Tobio’s office is actually a cubicle, one that it seems he will share with Suga. The decor is so starkly dated compared to the offices and conference rooms that skirt the hallways– it’s like they wanted to make it modern and then gave up halfway through. The cube walls are a depressingly dull shade of beige, and his chair sounds like it needs a good oiling. At least every time he flinches at the way it squeaks, it makes Suga laugh. That’s one of a few positives.

Another positive is Suga perched behind him, whispering a quiet “oh, stop it,” when Tobio’s mouth tilts in amusement at the way Suga has to hoist his seat higher to be able to see over Tobio’s shoulder.

“All of our current code is here,” Suga says, leaning forward over Tobio to point at the screen, the delicate rustle of his shirt tickling Tobio’s ear. The inherent softness of his voice in a place meant to be kept quiet makes Tobio shiver. “You have access to all of it. This also means you have access to everyone’s email accounts. I am legally obliged to tell you not to distribute them.”

Tobio turns his head, his stomach jolting slightly at the close proximity of his nose to Suga’s cheek.

“You think I would do that?”

Suga smiles, small and secret. “No, that’s why I said ‘legally obliged’.” Suga’s eyes flit to Tobio’s face, and when they refocus on the computer screen he’s still leaned up to point at, he unconsciously bites down on the soft center of his lower lip. “I know you can be trusted.”

After getting Tobio acquainted with the software, Suga takes him on a tour of the building. It seems Tobio’s assessment of a half-done renovation was correct– the structure was built in the early eighties, but it had been empty up until it was bought twenty years back.

Suga shows Tobio his own office, which Tobio frowns at. He’d assumed they would share a cube together, but it seems childish to ask for clarification, so he doesn’t. The first few days, at least, Suga stays with Tobio in the cubes. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense– Suga’s office is huge, and has an entire wall made of those mirror windows that you can only see out of, and lots of steel and glass furniture. But Suga has never been one for the touch-and-go method, and Tobio is more than happy for his company.

They even go on lunches together, sharing warm, reminiscent smiles over styrofoam platters of curried rice and gyudon. Suga always has small things to eat by hand, things he’s happy to share, and Tobio feels selfish piling his tray full of curry– the least easy thing to share– but Suga seems happy to, especially when he discovers that Tobio likes the nikuman the cafeteria serves. He teases him about it, says his palette is unrefined, that nearly everything they serve is frozen, imported, but Tobio shrugs it off. It isn’t so much the nikuman as it is the privilege of picking things right from Suga’s tray.



“They said you were a genius, you know?” Suga says, swirling the thin layer of sake left in his glass.

Tobio waits for him to finish it off, and then dips his head politely as he offers to pour Suga another glass. Suga obliges him, cupping the glass neatly in his palm and taking a small sip before setting it back down on the bar.

“I should have known it would be you.”

“What does that mean?” Tobio asks quietly, fingers held loosely around the base of his beer. They hadn’t kept in touch. Tobio has never been very good at making relationships last.

Suga smiles at him from one seat over, leaning his chin against his hand, and Tobio still doesn’t get it, he never did– why Suga can be so proud and so fond of something that isn’t his. Supportive, is maybe the word, but Tobio has never been good at understanding all that word entails.

“It means I should have expected you to be something big, something worth talking about. I guess I did expect it, I just assumed it would be volleyball.”

Tobio smiles to himself, face tilted down towards the bar.

“I had a good run with it. This was more realistic for me, though.” Tobio takes a swig of his beer.

Suga nods, like Tobio has just said something wise and agreeable, which Tobio stifles a chuckle at. Suga is too indulging, always used to be, it’s why Tobio let himself... but it’s stupid to think of that now. Past feelings belong exactly there– the past. This all feels mostly new.

Suga sighs as he tucks the soft fall of silver hair behind his ear, distractedly tracing a thin, tapered finger around the rim of his glass.

“Yeah,” Suga says, his tone quiet, contemplative. “Realistic.”


They spend more time together than they had in high school, which is impressive and somewhat of a treat in itself. Suga talks about his university, how he became interested in tech when he recognized it as a force that was always going to move forward, never backward, and how that appealed to him– though he refers to it all in past tense. He talks about his old roommate’s creepy doll collection, he talks about how Daichi and him still sometimes keep in touch, he talks about how much he hates the company standard headsets because they make his hair flatter than it already is– how corded phones were better, twisting their coils gave you something to do with your hands if you weren’t comfortable talking, which resonates oddly close to Tobio’s chest.

They are similar in the way that they are also very, very different, and Tobio can’t help but notice that Suga’s office is almost always empty, and that he’s moved his computer and all its peripherals out to the cubicle now, without even bothering to plug them in. The desk in his office sits completely empty.



“Iwamura-san,” Tobio says, his tight grip on the door handle of the HR offices betraying his attempt at casual conversation. He has to know, it’s been eating away at him–


Tobio stops chewing on his lip, exhaling quickly through his nose. “How many lead developer positions are there?”

Iwamura laughs quietly. “Only one,” he says, and then he winks at Tobio. “You’ll do great, kid.”

Tobio swallows over the bitter taste in his mouth, bowing out of the office politely.

Not again, he thinks.



To say that Tobio takes the news of essentially ripping Suga’s job out from under him badly is an understatement. Every time he looks at Suga he sees it– someone who’s worked hard to get to where they are, someone who was hired as an intern and promoted from within, and to have that all taken away from someone they reeled in at the last minute it’s– it doesn’t feel nice.

His guilt manifests in muted gestures and quiet obedience. He starts plating his own nikuman, starts offering some of his curry to Suga and refusing to take no for an answer. He is always prepared to pour Suga’s drinks, and he always asks for Suga’s opinion on his code, pretending to know less than he does about the algorithm Suga started for him to continue. He asks for Suga’s help organizing their database structures– though that one is mostly for the way Suga leans over his shoulder, the quiet rustle of clothes matching the lowered, intimate volume of his voice.


Tobio walks Suga home sometimes. He lives in an apartment building on a slight hill, and the walk up it is all cobbled streets with mossy overgrown trees and spiky ferns. It’s a small green jungle settled in an otherwise concrete one that seems to shelter the feeling Tobio can’t shake when they walk close together like this. The way Suga clearly notices how Tobio brushes the back of his hand against his, the way he allows it and even smiles to himself at it.

“This is actually a pretty nice neighborhood, you know,” Suga says with a knowing glint to his smile as he fishes out his key fob, Tobio standing close behind.

Tobio shrugs, self consciously lifting his shoulders higher than he would if he weren’t embarrassed for being called out.

“I like the exercise.”

Suga nods, and he seems to hesitate before swiping his keys to let himself into the apartment lobby. He looks somewhere near Tobio’s shoulder, his gaze then sweeping down the length of his arm, and then his smile brightens when he meets Tobio’s eyes again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kageyama-kun.”

“Suga-san,” Tobio says, interrupting the way Suga turns with the thinly veiled desperation in his voice– and then he stops. What can he say, really? I’m sorry, I didn’t want this to happen, why do you still support me?

None of this seems to fit, and Suga’s smile is slipping as his brows tighten in concern for Tobio’s silence, so he says, “Thank you for guiding me,” as he bows tightly, his shoulders stiff.

Suga’s hand presses into his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Thank you for letting me,” says Suga.



Tobio decides to do something nice for Suga, as it seems their friendship is more than just based on teamwork this time around, and Tobio has lost count of the amount of times he’s let Suga take him for a drink after work.

There’s a night festival on one of the canals by Tobio’s apartment, one where they set tealights into paper lanterns and let them loose to flow with the water as they please. Tobio’s first attempt topples, the quiet hiss off the water putting out his candle seems pathetic and contextually ominous, and he grunts his displeasure at it. Suga just laughs at his tight, petulant frown and gives him his own candle to place down, guiding his hand to do it gentler this time.

They stroll together along the path, the light dimming as most of the lanterns make their way down the canal, and they walk past a procession of people marching towards one of the temples, the woman at the front shielded by a deep red parasol. There are children in the lineup, dressed in golden robes, that offset the rigidity of the march– they can’t seem to sit still, running in circles around each other and scattering flower petals.

“Romantic,” Suga mutters to himself, pausing to watch as he grips at the cool metal railings that surround the banked edges of the canals. He watches the blurred swath of white and gold fabric retreat into the temple, and Tobio catches the reflecting glint of the lanterns bouncing off of Suga’s wide, awe-filled eyes. There are other lanterns, smaller than the ones on the canal, hung on string all along the outside of the temple, between the posts.

“You know, night weddings are becoming a trend now,” Suga begins, his tone factual, “They are seen as more intimate. The moon holds the power to regulate the tides, it’s seen as symbolic– to have the moon watch over such a big change in your life.”

Tobio watches Suga intently; the wistful, half-tilted smile, and the almost sad downward pull between his brows.

“Do you want to get married, Suga-san?” Tobio asks quietly.

Suga inhales quickly, turning to Tobio. He blinks a few times, his mouth opening and closing. “I… I guess? I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Tobio’s eyes quickly flit down to the ground, his cheeks burning. “I thought you had, sorry.”

Suga laughs, bright and lilting, softer than the hazy moonlit fog that now hovers over the canal, a combination of smoke from the candles and the humid summer warmth.

“No, that’s a fair assumption. I just– I guess I think it’s romantic to want to do something different, because it has meaning to you. To do something out of passion over practicality.”

Tobio looks up at Suga, confusion tugging his lips into a small frown. “But you’re the most practical person I know.”

He means it as a compliment, but something goes amiss, like a stone that skips water once and then plunks straight in to sink to the bottom. Suga’s wistful smile is replaced by something like reluctance– fear, even. Tobio doesn’t like it.

“You’re right,” Suga says, and then he takes a deep breath and walks past the wake of the procession, past the scatter of flowers now stepped on, bleeding into the concrete.



“Hey!” Iwamura rounds their cubicle one day, pointing finger-guns at the two of them. “How’s my golden boy and his old mule, eh?”

Tobio’s head whips to glare at Iwamura in abject horror, but Suga laughs quietly at his side.

“Be gentle with him,” Suga says, and it takes Tobio a moment to realize Suga is referring to him, “He scares easily.”

Tobio moves to turn his glare toward Suga this time, but the solid chink of something hitting his desk near his keyboard startles his attention away.

“Office is all yours, might as well start moving things in there now.” Iwamura moves to leave, but then stops, and rounds his head quickly back into the cubicle. “And if you spook easily, I can’t wait to see you at the next board meeting.”

He leaves in a whir of hearty laughter and Suga tsk'ing quietly from behind Tobio’s shoulder, but Tobio can’t drag his attention away from the two keys resting on his desk.


“My office,” Suga clarifies, “It’s all yours now.”

Tobio turns to face Suga, his eyes wide and fearful. “Your office– mine?”

Suga nods with a hum, and then pauses, tilting his head. He looks confused, like he doesn’t quite understand how to gauge Tobio’s reaction to this. Tobio is just as bewildered himself, really.

“It’s my last week, Kageyama-kun,” Suga says, and Tobio’s stomach drops. “You… you didn’t think we were going to keep you in a cube the whole time, did you?”

Tobio didn’t– didn’t know what to think. He’d known he was vying for Suga’s job, but to take his office? And for Suga to not even stay on the dev team, to be leaving the company altogether?

“I…” Tobio tries, clearing his throat. He scans Suga’s face, catalogs the tightness in his smile, the imperceptible way it seems to be forced, and feels like he never once deserved Suga’s kindness. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Suga says, quieter this time, meant only for Tobio’s ears. He reaches out, puts a reassuring hand on Tobio’s shoulder and squeezes. They’re so close, if Tobio tipped his head forward their foreheads might touch. “Really. It’s okay.”



It doesn’t feel right this time, doesn’t feel well earned.

He doesn’t have to take Suga’s job, he has a desirable skill set, he can go somewhere else. He doesn’t want to be the one to push Suga to the sidelines, not again, not when Suga’s been nothing but front and center in Tobio’s mind for the past month and a half they’ve had to spend together.

He’ll quit. And Suga will be the first to know, Suga will finally feel as important as he should. Suga would move mountains for Tobio, and Tobio is now beginning to understand why– or at least, why he would do the same in return.


It’s raining when Tobio stands waiting by the buzzer of Suga’s apartment, hands stuffed into pockets, his hair damp. It’s dark out, not too late but late enough for the breeze to be chilly. Suga sounds clearly surprised, but his voice over the speaker-comm sounds warm and welcoming, even despite the tinny connection up to his apartment.


Suga opens his door to Kageyama with a wide, almost bashful smile and Tobio’s chest tightens, pinpricks of feeling that make breathing a struggle.

“I’m quitting,” he blurts, because barreling right through to the point is the only way he knows how to do this. “I’m not taking your office. I won’t push you aside again, it isn’t right–”

“Hey,” Suga says softly, his hand lifting to curl around the back of Tobio’s neck. He tugs him inside. “Come here, it’s okay.”

Tobio stands awkwardly in Suga’s living room as Suga takes his coat, shaking stray drops of rain from it before hanging it on a hook over the back of his door. It’s only when Tobio notices how warm and soft everything seems to be in here that he feels the heavy dampness lingering on his skin, in his hair. He’s a mess. Suga probably couldn’t even decipher what he was saying.

“Would you like some tea?” Suga asks, guiding Tobio to sit on his couch. “I have coffee, but only instant.”

“Suga-san, I… I need you to understand something,” Tobio says, frowning angrily at the way he stutters a little over his words. He needs to be sure and firm– Suga won’t take him seriously otherwise.

“I think tea,” Suga says, pondering the wild state of Tobio’s hair. He even runs his fingers through it, which makes Tobio inhale shakily, his eyes sliding closed. “And maybe a towel.”

“Suga-san–” Tobio calls out, his eyes still clenched shut, his voice tight. He has to listen, he won’t let Suga roll over for him again, it can’t happen–

“Here we go,” Suga says, a slight strain in his voice from carrying a tray holding a delicately etched teapot and two cups balancing on saucers, a hand towel resting over his arm. He sets the tray down on the table in front of them, and then tosses the towel over Tobio’s head.

He must look ridiculous, peering up at Suga in desperation beneath the drape of the towel, but Suga smiles like he understands it all– the roil in Tobio’s gut when he thinks of Suga being sad or unhappy, the way his fingers tingle whenever their hands brush when they walk together, the way Tobio can’t seem to see anybody else with Suga in the room, how he’s done allowing Suga to stay on the side– all of it.

“You’re not quitting,” Suga says after taking a deep breath, using both hands to hold the teapot as he pours into both of their cups. “You’re taking my job, yes, but only because I’m leaving it. I want to do something I love, something less practical. You were hired as my replacement, but you didn’t take anything from me.”

Tobio cautiously takes the teacup Suga offers to him, and it feels delicate in his hands, at risk of breaking beneath the slightest amount of pressure. It’s what he’s giving Tobio, with open palms and warm encouragement.

Tobio stares at Suga for a moment, piecing through his thoughts as the towel begins to slip back from his head.

“Like a wedding beneath the moon,” Tobio mumbles to himself.

Suga smiles, reaching up to scrunch the towel into the ends of Tobio’s hair, and then pulling it from his shoulders. Tobio still feels damp, out of place in the warmth of this apartment, but Suga is, as always, guiding him to fit here. His place is exactly as Tobio had imagined– neat, but not cold. There are stacks upon stacks of colored boxes, all arranged in some kind of order. Behind their tray of tea there’s leaflets, sketches, open notebooks, pencils with well sharpened tips. There’s even some flowers pressed and dried between wax paper. Delicately deliberate clutter.

“They picked you because you were the best. That’s what happens when you’re insanely good at something,” Suga says, dipping his head to make sure Tobio catches his teasing grin, and Tobio rolls his eyes to hide the urge to grin in return.

“What are you going to do?” Tobio asks, after a moment of companionable silence where Suga sips his tea, playing with the decorated edge of the towel that was just on Tobio’s head.

“I want to start my own company,” Suga says, hesitantly biting his lip.

“Doing…?” Tobio pushes.

“Wedding planning,” Suga says quietly, and his grin is decorated with the bashful blush on his cheeks.

Tobio sets his teacup down, shoves his fingers beneath his own thighs, as though sitting on his hands might keep him from fidgeting inappropriately. This feels important, nonetheless, that Suga would share this with him.

“That sounds good,” Tobio says, trying to sound neutral but supportive, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “I think you would do great at anything, Suga-san.”

Suga shrugs modestly, and then turns a little to face Tobio. “To be honest, I thought you’d already be doing the same. I thought volleyball was your passion.”

“It was,” Tobio says, clearing his throat and lowering the volume of his voice when he realizes he sounds far too earnest. “It was, but um– Passions can change. I’m okay with that.”

“Yeah,” says Suga quietly, as he glances down at the towel he can’t seem to stop fiddling with in his lap.

Tobio looks down, watches Suga’s hands and feels his own shake beneath the pressing weight of his thighs.

“Are you happy?” Tobio asks quietly.

“Yes,” Suga says, and Tobio glances up beneath his lashes just quick enough to catch a glimpse of a slow spreading smile. Suga dips his head then, tries to catch Tobio’s eyes as he asks, “Are you happy, Kageyama-kun?”

Tobio nods, gritting his teeth against the prickling sting at the corners of his eyes, this well of emotion at the thought that the universe doesn’t seem to want to fit Suga in the same room with him, ever. It seems almost unfair, that they can’t just coexist in peace, but Tobio will take the blame for that.

It must be obvious. “I am now,” Tobio says, and he knows his eyes are watery because of the way Suga seems smudgy from so close up.

Suga scoots closer to him, his smile tugging into a concerned frown, and right when Suga reaches for his chin Tobio’s lower lip quivers. He grits his teeth again, jaw tightening, as if clenching his mouth shut can keep him from wanting to cry.

Suga, voice full of soft, gentle concern, says, “Tobio,” and pulls him into a hug.

Tobio cries quietly into Suga’s shirt, and Suga has to kneel on the couch to be able to cradle his head against his chest, but he does so without complaint or drawing any actual attention to the fact he’s so bewilderingly upset. It’s just a lot, he reasons. These life changing events are scary– new jobs, quitting jobs, gut swooping romances, moving home. Even weddings, now in more than one way. He has a new found appreciation for Suga’s steady hand, guiding him all the while trying to dive headfirst into the unknown.

When Tobio pulls away finally, he feels childish, his face swollen and probably ugly, but Suga doesn’t let him go too far, holding him by the curve of his jaw. Tobio ends up staring intensely at Suga’s mouth, helpless to it now they’re this close with so many things laid out on the table.

Suga must notice. Tobio has never been good at hiding the emotions he wants nobody to see. It must be obvious how much he wants, because Suga leans up and presses a soft, lingering kiss to Tobio’s cheek, right beneath his eye.

“Save a kiss for me when it won’t get you fired,” Suga whispers, close to his skin as the words thread into knots around his heart.

Some things begin to click into place– the deliberate brush of hands, sharing food and secret smiles, a carefully calculated distance that Suga seems ready to dispense with.

“Are they that strict?” Tobio asks, his voice shaky and tight with all he wants to taste Suga’s mouth. It is, after all, tantalizingly close.

Suga leans back farther, and Tobio resists the urge to whimper. His thumbs swipe stray tears from under Tobio’s eyes, and then he lets his hands drop from Tobio’s face altogether.

“Who knows, wouldn’t want to test it though,” Suga says, and the shaky way he exhales and fumbles with the towel in his lap speaks volumes. Tobio grins widely– similar, but different.

Suga gets pulled in by it, hooked in and caught by the sharp, disarrayed points of Tobio’s teeth. Tobio feels self conscious enough to force his face back into neutrality, but Suga is long-past charmed.

He lifts a hand to Tobio’s mouth, tugs gently at the corner of his lips with his thumb, and says, “You always had such a lovely smile.”







“There’s leftovers from that tofu dish in the fridge,” Suga spouts, fluttering through page after page of notes in his thick, leather bound notebook he can’t seem to ever let go of. “Oh! And I prerecorded that show you like, the one where they all fall off of inflated buildings into pools.”

“It’s funny,” Tobio says huffily, frowning at the implied tone that such a show might be childish. Suga laughs at it just as hard as he does.

“I know,” Suga says, stopping to lean over the center console of their car, taking Tobio’s face in his hands as Tobio pulls to a stop near the ferry dock. It’s a wedding on an island– he’ll be gone all weekend. “I just don’t want you to get bored.”

“I’ll be okay,” Tobio says, closing his eyes and smiling as Suga kisses both of his eyelids, his unique way of saying goodbye. Tobio leans over as Suga fumbles with his bag, carefully closing the organized chaos that is Suga’s notebook. His notes are color coded, marked with varying length of thin plastic post-its, all harboring the back folder where there’s loose photographs or scribbled poetry, tiny pieces of inspiration.

“Okay, okay,” Suga says, mentally accounting for all of his property, and wrapping the leather cord to keep his notebook as closed as it will get without brute force. “I’ll miss you. Please make sure you eat?”

Tobio scowls, though it tugs at a smile. “I think I’ll survive,” he huffs.

“Good,” Suga grins, leaning in to kiss him.

Suga piles himself high with his own bags and a few of the bridesmaid dresses, and turns all of four times on his way toward the ferry to wave at Tobio as he leaves.

Yeah, Tobio thinks. Romantic.