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New Year's Eve. Koushi claps his hands and prays.
It's become a tradition of some sort, which is ridiculous because they've only known each other since their first year of high school. But it will also be their last year doing this together in quite this way and that makes all of it strangely nostalgic, even if graduation still feels very far away.
It's their way of celebrating, not just wishing farewell to the old year and welcoming the new, but Daichi's birthday seamlessly bleeding into Asahi's.
“Still older than you,” Daichi asserts proudly as he does every year.
Asahi groans mildly.
“Still older than the both of you,” Koushi reminds them and laughs when Daichi joins in on the groaning.
“What did you pray for?” Daichi asks them.
“Good luck,” Asahi admits, rubbing the back of his head, “You?”
“Victory, of course,” Daichi replies, thumping his chest, and they all think of finals and the Spring Tournament and university entry exams before Koushi finds their questioning eyes on him.
“Happiness,” he says wisely and it's not even a lie.
Around them, swathes of people try to push past, taking their turn at the shrine.
“Careful,” Daichi says when Koushi is nearly knocked aside by a resolute-looking older woman, and he sends a glare after her when she doesn't even pause to apologize, “Seriously, people get ruder with each passing year.”
“Hm,” Koushi hums non-committedly because Daichi has put a protective arm around him to keep him close and lead him away from the crowd.
“Let's find a place to eat,” Asahi says, “My mother made mochi.”
They stand a little off to the side where they can overlook the temple, all those people still streaming up the stairs, like salmons up a river.
“We should have dressed up, too,” Asahi laments when a group of girls in brightly colored kimono titter past them.
“We did that last year,” Koushi reminds him wryly, “Remember whose teeth were chattering the whole way through?”
“Sorry,” Asahi sighs and lets his shoulders sink, burying his nose in his scarf as if to prove Koushi's point.
“He's right, though,” Daichi notes idly, “You looked good in yours. The color suited you.”
His eyes are not on Koushi, though, and his thoughts probably aren't really either.
But blue had always been Daichi's favorite color and Koushi had already known that last year.
“A haiku!” Daichi demands, lifting his thermos bottle of tea as though it were a glass of champagne, “Let's hear a haiku from Suga!”
This, too, they do every year so Koushi has come prepared. He still pretends to think for a moment, eyes rolled up towards the dark sky.
“I pray for success,” he recites, hands deep in his pockets and breath puffing white in front of him, “We'll all go to nationals. Let's kick their asses!”
Daichi and Asahi laugh and clap , nudging Koushi's sides with jacket-cushioned elbows.
“Well spoken, well spoken,” Daichi praises and offers Koushi the cap of his bottle, the tea all warm and steamy, but Koushi only has eyes for the faint imprint of Daichi's lips left on the metal rim.
Indirect kiss, Nishinoya would cheer in exuberance and promptly swap his own cup with Tanaka's if he were here.
But he isn't here so Koushi just quietly takes a small sip and thinks, Indirect kiss.
It's always a little strange to be walking the streets in the middle of the night and have so many people around you, more so even than usually in the middle of the day, everyone chatting and laughing, excited kids with their parents, groups of friends, couples close together.
“Happy birthday,” Koushi tells Asahi again when they reach the corner where their ways part, “We'll come by later today, so don't stay up too long.”
“Yes, kaa-san,” Asahi says with a lopsided grin.
“Thank your real mother for the mochi,” Daichi reminds him and claps him on the back.
Asahi chuckles and waves and makes his way home.
Koushi falls into step next to Daichi and bites his lower lip, looking down at his feet. He wouldn't miss Asahi for the world, but sometimes three is a crowd, and like this it's just somewhat easier to pretend that things are different.
The thought alone makes him shiver.
“What,” Daichi says when he notices, “Don't tell me you're getting cold now?”
“Just a little,” Koushi lies, breathing into his hollow palms, “Forgot my gloves.”
“And just after scolding Hinata last week,” Daichi shakes his head, but then just reaches for Koushi's hand, rubbing his thumb over the cold skin. “Can't have our best setter lose his fingers to frostbite, can we?” he asks, and all of that combined doesn't just make Koushi feel warm but suddenly hot all over.
A haiku, Daichi had demanded with laughter in his voice and his eyes crinkling like they always did when he was happy in that strange careless teenage way that he rarely ever showed, Let's hear a haiku from Suga!
And Koushi's heart had said,
Kiss me ere the sun
riseth on the New Year's morn
Make it last all night.
But, oh, there were so few hours left until first light.
“So,” Daichi says, flexing his shoulders and shuffling around a little when they reach Koushi's house, “Potentially last time spending New Year's like this, huh?”
He's never before accompanied Koushi all the way home. There was no reason. They lived relatively close, after all.
Koushi smiles, swallows around the lump in his throat.
“I thought you prayed for victory,” he points out lightly, “Just pass all your exams and get into the same uni as me.”
They've joked around about this before, about choosing the same university, sharing a flat.
Don't base these decisions on where your friends are going, their advisers at school had reminded them time and time again, This is not about fun times, but your future.
Koushi tries to imagine himself studying architecture or engineering or political sciences, sitting in a stuffy auditorium, surrounded by a sea of unknown faces, but all he sees is an aisle in a supermarket and Daichi arguing that, no, seriously, we can totally afford to splurge on red meat, o-baa-san told me to eat well, so we're eating well, Koushi.
“I've been studying a lot,” Daichi reminds him and Koushi knows, knows it quite painfully, because between study sessions and cram school and volleyball and regular classes they've been seeing a lot of each other, but not like before, not like when it was often just them, crashed on Daichi's couch and watching stupid game shows, Koushi narrating everything like a sports commentator but throwing in scathing remarks about the competitors, till Daichi was laughing so hard he slipped down along the cushions, hands holding his belly, shirt riding up.
“Anyway,” Koushi catches himself with half a mind to leave, to go and unlock the front-door to his house, go up to his room and lie alone in his bed, but that would mean having to reach for the metal gate, having to touch it and letting it chase away the lingering warmth in his fingertips. “Even if it doesn't work out like that, train rides aren't that expensive. We could still see each other sometimes.”
If you don't find new friends. If you don't fall in love. If you don't forget me as soon as we no longer see each other every day.
“Oh,” Daichi says and his face falls, “I thought that was- um. Oh.”
Koushi tilts his head to the side, bewildered, “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Daichi laughs a little, scuffs his toes against the asphalt, as though he were self-conscious or something which Koushi has rarely seen before, and never directed at him. “I thought the whole...,” he makes an aborted gesture, meaningless safe for what little time the awkward pause buys him, “I thought the plan with sharing an apartment was a done thing.”
Koushi purses his lips so his heart doesn't jump out of his mouth.
“Daichi,” he says, not unkindly, but with a bland sort of maturity that sits heavy on his tongue, “We're not supposed to plan our lives based on what our friends are doing.”
A beat of silence as they stare at each other, trying to figure out just which part of their message got lost in translation.
“Suga,” Daichi insists, “I'm not making plans to move in with Asahi or- or Yui or Kiyoko or anyone.”
Because Asahi is a terrible slob, Koushi wants to say, Because he probably leaves his hair in the drain. Because he wouldn't smile in the morning simply because you are there and barely awake and burning toast in the kitchen.
Koushi's breath hitches.
“What did you pray for tonight, Daichi?” he asks, lilting with hope.
“Victory,” Daichi repeats his answer from before, but all of a sudden it means something different, and he is very close, “You?”
“Happiness,” Koushi breathes.
Sunrise is still hours and hours away, he knows, but still there are lips pressed against his.
“Are you happy, Suga?” Daichi asks against his mouth, and the quiver in his voice betrays how Koushi's answer decides about whether he has lost or won.
“Yes,” Koushi says and throws his arms around him, “Yes.”
“What did you pray for last year?” Daichi asks.
“This,” Koushi replies and kisses him again, “You?”
Daichi grins, “Getting a chance to strip you out of that kimono.”
“Idiot,” Koushi says and slaps his shoulder. “You know,” he says after a pause, “I've still got it up in my room.”
With a somber expression Daichi turns his face heavenwards.
“The gods are merciful this year,” he exclaims, “They have heard my every prayer.”
“Just shut up and come in,” Koushi huffs and pulls him into the house by the collar.
Daichi just laughs and kisses him again, again, all night.