“I can’t.”

Tooru’s heart shatters over two syllables. His lungs are cold, lips burning where Hajime’s touched them just moments ago. It feels like a century, a lifetime of longing for something so forbidden that he’s going to pay for it, one day, and he’ll pay a bloody price.

The question Tooru had asked had been simple in its innocence. “Will you be my boyfriend?” His mouth tastes like ashes now, grey, white, and Hajime in front of him is the gold that he shouldn’t have wanted.

Hajime pulls him close, warm hand in Tooru’s hair, his forehead against Tooru’s when he steals his breath with a kiss – oh please, not the last one, anything but that. “I can’t,” Hajime whispers into his mouth, voice shaking in his throat. “They can’t know about us. They’d kick me out. Nobody – not the team, nobody. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Tooru digs his nails into the muscles of Hajime’s arms and sends a prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in anymore.

“Promise me that one day you’ll say yes.” Tooru buries his face in Hajime’s shoulder. He doesn’t cry; not when he’s with Hajime. That time is too precious, rare as the gold he’s fallen in love with like a fool. Hajime’s mouth kisses his forehead, soft, and he hums a broken “I promise” into the crown of Tooru’s head.

Tooru walks home alone. Hajime gets picked up by his parents, smiles at his father, his eyes as dark as they always are when he’s been with Tooru. One day, Tooru thinks. And until then, he waits, and he holds onto his gold with all the idiotic hope that his mind can scratch together.

‘I’d rather be yours in secret, in the shadows’ cold, behind closed doors – behind a fucking fortress of lies and denial, if you need that. I’d rather be your darkest sin than never be yours at all.’

Winter is Kageyama’s favourite season. Winter means a shimmer of snow caught in Hinata’s hair, the halo of gold-orange around his head sprinkled with silver in the afternoon’s light. Winter means going home slowly, hand in hand, with gloves off because Hinata insists on feeling Kageyama’s skin even though their fingertips go a bit blue.

And, of course, winter means Hinata wearing Kageyama’s favourite hoodie.

He looks ridiculous in it (and so adorable that Kageyama’s cheeks go even redder than they already were from the cold). Hinata lounges around on his bed, curled into a tiny ball of hair sticking up, his whole body buried into the soft grey wool of Kageyama’s sweater. It’s so fucking cute.

“It doesn’t fit you,” Kageyama says. He flops down besides Hinata and wraps an arm around his shoulder, inhaling his scent as he pushes his nose into his soft hair. Hinata makes a tiny giggling noise and shoves him. “Shut up, it’s comfy. And – “ He looks up at Kageyama, eyes gleaming like little suns in the dawn’s shadows licking at his face.

“…and it smells like you.”

“Shit,” Kageyama says, “fine. Keep wearing it.”

Hinata’s mouth is warm and sweet. Kageyama tastes his lips, cinnamon and milk with honey and a last hint of salt from practice earlier. Hinata hums something that sounds suspiciously like “last christmas” while tucking his head under Kageyama’s chin. Winter is amazing, Kageyama thinks. He closes his eyes and breathes Hinata in, feeling the heat of his own hoodie warm up his small boyfriend.

Kageyama: Whoooo’s the greatest decoy?
Hinata: ??????????
Kageyama: YOUUUU are!
Hinata: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“There’s a meteor shower tonight.”

Tooru doesn’t ask if Hajime wants to go with him. He simply packs their old blue blanket and that picknick basket Hajime once got from a yard sale, and starts to walk. In the end, Hajime always catches up with him. Always, no matter whether it’s 4 a.m. again and the night’s dew soaks Hajime’s pants, the grass underneath his hands cold and wet when they lie down on a hill outside town, and let the sky unfold above them.

It’s all worth it, with Tooru’s warm excited hand in his own. Tooru points at the meteors dancing over the black sky, makes soft noises of happiness, and Hajime can’t understand how some people go star-gazing when all he wants to look at is right here.

Beautiful isn’t the right word for Tooru. You wouldn’t call a galaxy beautiful. You wouldn’t describe the birth of a new star as breathtaking, or incredible, or even gorgeous. Hajime isn’t good with words, and he wouldn’t find the right ones anyways.

There’s no symphony in the world that can explain the way Tooru’s freckles look like golden fireflies. No painting could catch the earth-shattering way that Tooru’s skin moves over his neck, Hajime’s teeth having left love-traces on his collarbone and the arch of his pale throat, and nothing – nothing, no poem or story with thousands of words – could describe the bittersweet light quaking through Hajime’s veins when Tooru whispers his name, and kisses his lips into another world, galaxy, eternity.

‘Holy.’ || asanoya. sfw.

“Alright,” Daichi says one day and pulls Noya aside, out of the changing room and back into the gym. “I seriously can’t take it anymore. Suga, help me.” – “I’m right behind you. Noya, we have to talk.”

Noya doesn’t understand anything. His two sempai stare at him, Daichi’s arms crossed, Suga’s forehead in wrinkles and his hands on his hips. Noya feels like he’s being stared down by his parents, and he instinctively shrinks a bit (he’s more afraid of Suga, though, because that gleam in his eyes looks very dangerous). “Uhm – what is it?”
Daichi sighs and makes a hand gesture at Suga. “Tell him.”

“Okay, listen. You are so damn blind, I sometimes wonder how you’re still playing as our libero. It’s the following…”

Turns out, Noya is indeed really fucking blind. He swirls back into the changing room moments later, still shirtless, and ignores an excited Hinata jumping into his way. “Oh no, did you get scolded, Noya-sempai? Where are you going – “

“Asahi!” Noya says. He strides over to his teammate and simply jumps up to pull at his bun, loosening the scrunchie so Asahi’s hair falls open.

“Wha – N-nishinoya? What’s wrong?” Asahi whirls around, clutching at his head, cheeks glowing red with nervous embarrassment. “Don’t do that, I’m sweaty and it’ll stick to my face – “

Noya grabs Asahi’s shirt and pulls him down. “You,” he says, bringing their faces close, breath heavy in his small lungs. “You are a goddamn idiot, Asahi. I’m so mad at you, and I’m so mad at myself because I didn’t fucking see it.” It’s impressive that Asahi’s face can still turn an even darker shade of red, but Noya doesn’t care.

When his lips crash against Asahi’s, the changing room goes dead quiet. There’s a mere helpless whimper from Asahi when a bundle of orange and black suddenly wraps two legs around his waist and kisses him until Asahi’s vision goes white.

Daichi wraps an arm around Suga. “About time,” he says, and grins at their teammates speechless faces. “Someone had to tell him.”

“Tell – w-what?” Asahi manages between two kisses, his hands holding Noya by his thighs, face radiating heat and a smile that could illuminate the whole gym. Suga rolls his eyes. “That you look at him like he’s holy, like he’s a god or something.”

‘A deity,’ Asahi thinks to himself, and lets Noya kiss him again. ‘My deity.’

“Why am I never good enough?”

That’s what Oikawa says, mute tears on his red-cried cheeks, when Hajime first discovers the bruises all over his arms. Oikawa has always been a setter, Hajime thinks as he holds him in his arms, rocking both of them back and forth on the empty floor of the locker room. Setters don’t get bruised. It takes his brain a moment to figure it out; until Oikawa whispers something, not a name but something that’s supposed to be the second word a child speaks after “mama”. A word filled with trust and love and protection. When Oikawa whispers it, it’s thick and black and sharp as a knife in Hajime’s ears.

He’s never liked Oikawa’s father.

“Why? Why?!” Oikawa sobs into his shirt, hugging himself underneath Hajime’s grip. “Why am I never good enough for him?!”

‘You’ve always been more than good enough,’ Hajime thinks. ‘You’re gorgeous, brilliant, and sometimes I look at you for a bit too long and forget how I was alive without the sunlight of your eyes.’

What he says is: “Come live at my place. You’re seventeen. It’s only a year until you’re free.”

Oikawa stares at him. His eyes are wounded and deep, a lost child hovering between a myriad of worlds it doesn’t belong in.

“Are you serious?”

Hajime is. He’s so serious that he opens up his own world, small and unperfect as it is, and lets Oikawa flood all of his gold and silver into it.

In the end, Oikawa is enough, and sometimes even too much in a breathtaking, overwhelming way, when he sleeps with his head tucked under Hajime’s chin and a hand over his beating heart.

There’s only one rule. “Don’t mention it.” That’s what Oikawa whispered into Hajime’s trembling lips after he’d kissed him into the lockers of the changing room. Don’t mention it, that’s the rule Hajime hears as a painful echo inside his head when Oikawa laughs at a group of girl, waves, smile bright and warm like the mouth he kisses Hajime with and stole his heart out of his chest.

But Hajime’s never been one for rules. “Why the fuck do you keep kissing me? Why shouldn’t I mention it?” He asks when Oikawa’s pressing him against the lockers once more, long fingers buried in Hajime’s hair, eyes alight with victory, possession, and something so dark that Hajime swallows, hard.

Oikawa jolts as if he’s been hit and backs off. “Because I don’t wanna hear you say it.” His voice trembles, broken around its frail edges. Hajime’s had enough. He catches Oikawa’s wrist, pulling him close, but Oikawa tries to fight, presses both hands against Hajime’s chest – and then, a shimmer of wetness on his cheeks.

“You don’t get it, do you.” He sounds so tiny, Hajime thinks, and that’s enough. His hands find the small of Oikawa’s back, fitting there like they’re earth and wind and belong together underneath the stars and all of the planets.

“You don’t wanna hear me say what?”

Oikawa looks at him. His eyes are drowned galaxies, bottom lip shivering. “I don’t wanna hear you say ‘stop it already’. Or ‘that’s disgusting’. Or – “

“You are so goddamn dense.” Hajime’s mouth is soft on Oikawa’s, melts against his skin, and Oikawa’s eyes go wide. Hajime sighs. His best friend’s always been insecure, underneath all that fire and smoke he radiates during a game. “Listen carefully.” And Hajime leans their foreheads together, breathing in Oikawa’s scent, thumb caressing his tear-damp cheek. “Kiss me. Kiss me all you want, whenever you want – but I’m going to be the only one, got it?”

Oikawa’s grin returns, sharp and burning. “Is that your new rule?” He asks. Hajime replies with a kiss, and warm hands on Oikawa’s cheeks, wiping the tears away.

‘As a Friend.’ || kagehina. nsfw.

because hinata is the type to say “sucks your dick but as a friend”. note: Kageyama goes by he/him pronouns and isn’t sure yet whether he’s genderfluid or agender. He’s told Hinata about everything.
words: 2,366.
oh and – radio-silents draws a beautiful genderfluid Kageyama. ♥

“Hey, we’re friends, right?” Hinata suddenly says on their way home from training, and it doesn’t sound like a question.

Kageyama frowns and looks at his profile, sucking the rest of his milk out of the box before throwing it into a trash can. He stuffs both hands into the pockets of his volleyball jacket, and slows down his steps to match Hinata’s tinier ones. “What kind of stupid question ‘s that? Of course we are. Idiot.”

Hinata’s head whips around to him. His usual sunshine smile blooms bright and warm on his cheeks. Kageyama bites his lip. “What,” he asks. “Spit it out already.” He’s freezing; he should’ve known it’s too cold for a skirt today. He wants to go home and put on sweatpants. Maybe cuddle a bit.

“Well, uhm. You remember when I started kissing you? As a friend?” Hinata slows down, and his voice drops into that low, soft rumble that has been driving Kageyama insane ever since puberty hit both of them like one of Asahi’s spikes.

He stops walking. “I – yeah. How could I forget that? If you’re gonna ask me for the seven hundred and fifty-sixth time whether I’m okay with that, cut it out. I already told you before you kissed me – “

There’s a soft touch on his hand, and long fingers lace up with his own. Hinata’s still smiling when he tiptoes in front of Kageyama, and he’s very very close – oh God. Kageyama stares, he’s lost in the freckles on Hinata’s cheeks, the ones he developed in their first year of university, so pretty, he’s so cute –

“How about I suck your dick as a friend?” Hinata says.

Kageyama doesn’t know how he gets to the dorms. Hinata has probably dragged him along after stealing all the breath out of his lungs with those soft, sinful lips. Hinata kisses with all his heart, clumsy and raw and so honest with his affection that Kageyama’s chest hurts in a new, wonderful way whenever they have to pull away again.

The question still ghosts through Kageyama’s head when Hinata pulls him into his dorm room, quickly slamming the door shut so the cold stays outside. “A’ight, here we are! Gahh, I think I need a shower first. Make yourself comfy – why do I even tell you that anymore?” He laughs, and tiptoes again to press a chaste kiss onto Kageyama’s burning lips. “You live here half of the time, anyways.”

Kageyama watches Hinata leave for the shower, and as soon as he’s gone, Kageyama immediately slips out of his shoes and crawls underneath the blankets of Hinata’s large bed. His feet are cold, his nose shines red from the icy wind outside and Hinata is going to suck his dick.

Because somehow, Kageyama said yes.

Hinata is brave, he thinks while making himself comfortable, pulling the covers up to his nose. Brave, cute, overwhelming, and so secure in everything he does. Kageyama hasn’t even figured out his own gender, but Hinata kisses him with the same indestructible certainty that gleams in his warm eyes when he hits Kageyama’s tosses.

“I’m back. You any warmer yet?” Hinata steps out of the bathroom five minutes later. A quick shower, Kageyama thinks. Then, he can’t think anything else, because a Hinata who only wears boxers sneaks under the covers next to him, and a soft mouth melts against his own. “Oh,” Kageyama hears himself say. Hinata’s eyes are closed, bright lashes fluttering over his cheeks; sun-spun gold, he’s glowing, he’s all that someone could dream of. Kageyama doesn’t complain when Hinata slides closer, when small hands push into his hair and cling to his neck, when a rough thumb slides over his jaw and the electrifying lick of a warm tongue elicits an embarrassing moan from Kageyama.

There’s a leg pushing between his own, and Kageyama jolts. That’s new, they haven’t done that yet, they’ve only kissed – but it’s fine, if only he could get his legs to finally spread, his muscles to move – he’s so nervous, fuck.

“Kageyama, wait. Hey, look at me.” Hinata presses their foreheads together, and his leg between Kageyama’s stills. Their bodies fit together like they are made to fill each other’s broken edges, Kageyama finds and tries to kiss Hinata again, catching his lips with a dark groan – he knows he’ll get hard soon, shit, it always happens when Hinata kisses him like he’s flames and smoke and it’s so, so goddamn good –

“Kags! Listen!” And Hinata grabs his face, rolling Kageyama onto his back with surprising ease so he kneels over him. Kageyama blinks. Why’d he stop? Oh God, maybe he’s bad at this. Maybe Hinata’s decided that he doesn’t want to be with someone who’s neither boy nor girl, or he suddenly hates that skirt he once called cute before or Kageyama smells weird -“ Sorry – fuck, what’d I do wrong- “

“Do you really want this?” Hinata says, frowning, a wrinkle appearing between his brows. Kageyama frowns back and tries to pull him into another kiss. “Of course, didn’t I already tell you? Idiot, why – “

“Because I care about you! And I want you to consent because I – because I don’t wanna hurt you!” Hinata buries his face in Kageyama’s neck, his voice muffled, hot breath sending wild shudders down Kageyama’s spine. “It’s like volleyball, idiot. We gotta do this together. We both have to want this. Just… “

“You’re such a dumbass,” Kageyama whispers. “The biggest idiot. Yes, okay? Yes. A thousand times yes. I won’t say it out loud, I’m not as fuckin’ blunt as you. But I want this, ‘kay? I trust you.”

There’s a moment of silence. Kageyama lets go of
Hinata’s wrists, prepares himself for anything. “Are you – are you okay? Hey.
Dumbass.” He wiggles underneath Hinata, props himself up on his elbows to
glance at him from below. “Hinata?” And then, laughter bubbles up in Hinata’s
throat, and two fingers catch Kageyama’s chin to pull him into a wild,
passionate kiss. His eyes go wide, a twitch of pure heat roaring through his
stomach. Hinata moans softly into his mouth, lets Kageyama taste his tongue as
it runs over his lips, pushing inside to lick and bite so perfectly at his
mouth.

“I,” Hinata murmurs against Kageyama’s tongue, words so rough that Kageyama’s
skin begins to crawl with untamed excitement, “I really, really wanna suck your
dick right now.”

Fuck. Kageyama is so goddamn weak. He throws his head back and whimpers when Hinata’s mouth runs
over his thundering pulse, tongue flicking over that sensitive spot right below his throat
– and Hinata whispers something like “you look so good like that, Kageyama.” Jesus,
he won’t last, he’s hard already and Hinata hasn’t even touched his cock yet –
but the way he slithers down on Kageyama, mouth tracing every inch of his skin,
has Kageyama spread his legs apart and groan, fingers curling into the sheets to grab
fistfuls of it. Warm, careful hands slide up his thighs, a thumb tracing over
the inner seam of his tights, toying with the rim of his skirt.

“Can I – ?” Hinata
asks, his breath sowing fire on Kageyama’s skin, and he scrapes his teeth over
Kageyama’s throat, to the soft ivory of his collarbone. Kageyama feels all air die in his lungs when teeth dig into his skin. Hinata bites him, marks his whole shoulder with little nips, his tongue sliding hot and wet along Kageyama’s skin, licking up sweat and his scent and oh God, he needs Hinata so badly.

“Shit – yes, yesyesyes
– !”

Hinata grins and appears back in his field of vision, breathing a tender kiss onto Kageyama’s trembling lips. “Alright, got it. Tell me if anything’s wrong. Promise?” – “Yeah. Promise, dumbass.”

Then Kageyama falls back into the pillows, elbows collapsing under his weight when a loud moan rips out of his throat, because Hinata slides a hot hand over his cock and cups him over his skirt. He’s going to soak it, Kageyama thinks, he’s never been that hard, his thighs shaking and slowly rising to wrap around Hinata’s shoulders as he glides deeper. Kiss after kiss sparks on Kageyama’s chest, because somehow Hinata’s just pushed up his shirt and licks softly around his nipple. He bites, again, a mark blooming right where Kageyama’s so sensitive, a strong thumb pressing onto the head of his cock through the fabric of his skirt, and he just can’t take it. Kageyama slaps a hand over his own mouth and whimpers.

“G-get – on with it, shit – Hina, I can’t – “

“I know,” Hinata says and breathes softly over his nipple, running his fingernail along it. Kageyama thinks he’s going to die here and now, right this second, combusting from the pure solar flare that Hinata lights inside his chest. “Come on – !”

And somehow, that does it. Hinata stares up at him, one hand on Kageyama’s chest, the other between his legs, and there’s a raw, wild darkness spreading inside the depths of his eyes. He licks his lips, grins. Kageyama thinks of a predator, a hunter, and spreads his legs a little further. Hinata growls, low, deep in his chest. “God, you look so good, d’you know that? Whatever you wear, you’re so cute, and I want to kiss you all the time.”

Before Kageyama can reply to that, Hinata hooks his fingers into the fabric of his tights, and pulls. They slip off Kageyama’s legs, revealing tight black boxers, and Hinata immediately digs his teeth into their rim and works them down over his hard cock. Shit, this – this is really happening, and he’s still in his skirt, Hinata’s going to see him naked, what if he looks stupid –

“Oh f-fuck, Hinata – Shoyou, oh p-please…!”

Kageyama arches, moans heavily, his thighs closing around Hinata’s cheeks, and he tears violently at the bed sheets when a soft, warm mouth presses an innocent kiss to his hard cock. The world blurs before his eyes, his blood boils, searing from the heat that Hinata’s body radiates against his own, and as two hands come down to press him into the bed, thumbs stroking the pale dip of his hipbones, Kageyama hears a loud sob echo in the dorm. Oh, that’s his own voice, begging and whimpering for more, his cock twitching hard against Hinata’s gorgeous mouth.

“Sh-shit, Shou – I n-need you, I need you to…”

“I know,” Hinata’s lips whisper against his skin. Kageyama hears him swallow, feels a gently drag of teeth over his length, and it’s perfect – Hinata knows him so well, knows how to drive him insane, to get every little whimper out of his pathetic, helplessly aroused body. He knows from their kisses, from former touches, from having been with Kageyama until now, through school and his nights of crying over who he was, until Hinata bought him a skirt one day and told him that he was the best fucking setter and kinda pretty, no matter the gender.

“Lemme take care of you, Tobio. I wanna do this for you, you’re – fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

He’s lost. He falls. Hinata is everywhere, and Kageyama closes his eyes so he can feel all of it – the adoration that Hinata’s fingertips drip over his love-hungry skin, the erratic, nervous breath against his hard cock, and finally – gentle lips wrapping around him, sucking hard, a slick tongue licking up the precome dripping down the head of his dick.

“O-oh f- fuck, God, yes yes please, please – !”

Kageyama sobs, a sharp cry rising in his chest, heels digging into the bed as his hips roll forward, and his cock slides into Hinata’s mouth. It’s so perfect, warm and wet and silky, and the little noise that Hinata makes when he drags his tongue slowly over the underside of Kageyama’s cock drives him higher, higher, his ass clenching as all muscles drive him towards Hinata, those lips that suck him for all he has –

Hinata hums around him, pressing his hands harder onto Kageyama’s hips, and takes a deep breath through his nose. His lips tighten, and he gently moves his mouth down lower, sliding back up with an wet, obscene sound as his tongue licks a stripe of precome from Kageyama’s cock – he grins up at Kageyama, mouth shining in the dim light of his room, and that’s Kageyama’s precome on his lips, oh dear God.

“Shouyou – Shouyou,” Kageyama says his name like a prayer, like Hinata is the revelation he’s been searching for, and those lips make him a believer that he can be loved, finally, despite everything.

Hinata grabs his hand and guides it into his hair, and Kageyama digs his fingers into the soft strands, the warm sunshine blooming between his fingertips as Hinata takes him in, swallowing thickly around his length, the silky heat of his mouth going tight and shit – Kageyama sobs hard, thrusts between Hinata’s lips, and comes with a stuttered symphony of Hinata’s name in his throat. His body sinks back into the sheets, and he can’t see or hear anything, only feel how Hinata sucks him through his orgasm, hands safe and secure on his hips, holding him just like he needs it.

Kageyama closes his eyes, and listens to his thundering heart, and the roar of utter, complete bliss in his veins.

—

“So, uhm. You sucked my dick.”

“…obviously? I thought you’d participated in it, or did I just suck some ghost’s dick and you’re just an illusion – “

“Oh my God, shut up. Maybe you should do it again, at least you were fuckin’ quiet then.”

“Hey! You’re an idiot. Also, you loved me talking to you. I’m not blind, y’know.”

“Hinata.”

“Hm?”

“I – are we… are you… forget it.”

“Your boyfriend? Yup. Totally.”

“Oh! I mean. Yeah. ‘f course. And I’m your – shit, I don’t know – “

“My setter, duh. I only spike your tosses. And I only suck your dick.”

“Holy shit, shut the fuck up, Hinata.”

Oikawa Tooru is really fucking gay.

He’d known that he’s just “gay” before already, so that’s no earth-shattering surprise. He hadn’t known that there was still some room for more – and that empty space is currently occupied by Hajime and the fresh ink blooming on his naked back.

Tooru sends a prayer to the volleyball god. His teammates admire the black tattoo on Hajime’s back with louds oohs and aahs, while Tooru’s standing there with his shirt in his hands, staring like a lovestruck school girl being confronted with her first crush. When Hajime laughs, the muscles on his strong back shift, coiling underneath the skin, sweat dripping down from the soft, wet hair in his broad neck. Tooru swallows again. It doesn’t help. The tattoo is an ancient tree, beautifully curled branches that stretch over Hajime’s shoulder, the dark trunk nestled against his right side. The roots reach down to the rim of his training shorts, and Tooru’s eyes trace the tree’s silhouette. It’s breathtaking. It fits Hajime.

It’s strong and reliable and invincible, standing with a calm pride that Tooru hasn’t yet managed to find inside his own chest.

After everyone’s already left and Tooru finally slips into his jacket, a warm arm slings over his neck. Soft breath drags over his ear, and Hajime whispers, his grin hot on Tooru’s jolting skin: “Wanna come over to my house and find out where the roots end?”

Tooru is so unbelievably, helplessly gay, and he loves it.

Rosé. || daisuga

“Suga,” Daichi says.

“Yes?”

“Your hair.” He swallows, tries to breathe around the thick lump inside his throat. Suga smiles at him, his best friend, his boyfriend, an angel who’s somehow made it into human form to make Daichi realizes just how goddamn gay he really is. If there’s something like Sugasexual – yup. That’s totally him.

“It’s,” Daichi tries again. He reaches up to touch Suga’s hair, gently takes a strand between his fingers. “It’s pink.”

“The colour’s called ‘rosé pastel’, actually.”

“Oh.” And because Suga keeps smiling, tilts his head so adorably, Daichi can’t stop staring. “Daichi, are you going to let go of my hair, or – because we need to do the cleaning – “

“Uhm yeah, s-sure.”

Daichi watches him leave, and the light of the afternoon sun floods through the windows of the gym, painting golden flecks onto the flower colour of Suga’s soft, angelic hair.

Maybe he’s always loved him, Daichi thinks when he follows, throwing his arms around Suga’s waist after checking that they’re alone. Suga makes a tiny gasp and laughs, bell-like, crystal-clear, his head turning with a waft of pastel hair.

“You’re gorgeous,” Daichi whispers into his ear, “and I – I adore you, do you know that.” Suga’s blushing cheeks are warm inside his hands, afterwards, when Suga whirls around to kiss him with an embarrassed mumble of “stop it already, that’s – mhm, Daichi.”

The next day, Suga’s hair has purple tips and a turquoise streak from his pony to his ear.

‘Pastel is an amazing colour scheme,’ Daichi thinks later when he kisses Suga against the lockers and steals his sweet, warm breath away.