Work Text:
In exactly 24 hours, Daichi will be gone.
That’s the first thing on Koushi’s mind when he wakes up; it’s early April, there’s dull sunlight creeping in through the blinds of his bedroom window, and the clock on his bedside table glares 9:00. It’s Saturday – and the only way he knows he’ll get through this day is if he takes his mind off of the deadline.
Not enough time, he thinks defeatedly, toothbrush scrubbing tiredly against his teeth before he spits in the sink, brushes his hair, and heads back into his room. He flops down onto his mattress, eyes turned upward at the ceiling, and a sigh pries itself from between his lips. You have to call him, his subconscious urges. You have to make every last moment count.
So, for what feels like the last time, Koushi flips open his cellphone and dials the number he knows by heart; he presses it to his ear, closes his eyes, and waits.
There’s the sound of fumbling, of momentary static, before a gruff, “Hello?”
“Ah, Daichi,” Koushi brightens – and even though his chest is heavy and his stomach feels doubled over, he lets an easy smile pull up at the corners of his mouth. “Did I wake you?”
“Koushi,” Daichi breathes, relieved, and at this, Koushi’s eyes flutter open. When he hears Daichi say his name – his first name, the name that people seem to forget belongs to him, hidden just past the countless cries of Suga – his heart leaps. It’s almost painful the way it does, without hesitation, without thought. It’s reckless. Koushi knows he’s reckless, and that tomorrow, when this all ends (at least for now) he’ll regret it.
He blames his weak heart.
“You didn’t wake me,” Daichi says hurriedly, “I was just, ah, getting out of the shower.”
Koushi’s parted lips press together faster than he can register; at just the thought, his cheeks begin to burn and even though he’s alone, he feels like shoving a pillow over his face to hide his embarrassment. An image of Daichi flashes in his mind from months before; the scent of sweat on his skin, the feeling of the captain’s chest pressed against his, of nervousness and awkwardness and Koushi, I don’t want to hurt you. But more than any of that, the feeling of completeness – of two halves of a whole coming together, feeling suddenly separate for every moment spent without Daichi’s hot breath at his throat, without Daichi inside–
“Koushi?” Daichi prompts suddenly, snapping him from his reverie.
He flushes deeper, clears his throat, and wonders if he pause was in any way telling of the thoughts running through his head.
“Oh, I’m here,” Koushi starts, sitting up in bed, unfolding his legs as though to relieve the painful hardness that he finds difficult to ignore. “Ah, I was just wondering what your plans were for today.”
Daichi laughs. “I’m just going to finish packing, but if you wanted, I thought we could go do something.”
“Go out?” Koushi clarifies.
This seems to rattle Daichi. “Erm,” he stutters, “y-yeah, go out. Maybe to dinner or, ah, see a movie, or if you didn’t want to do that, we could–”
Koushi cuts him off. “Dinner sounds perfect.”
He can hear the smile in the other boy’s voice as he breathes deeply, waiting just a moment before saying, “Okay. I’ll, um, come by yours at six.”
When they both say their last words, ending with goodbyes and a final click on Daichi’s end, Koushi slowly brings the cell from his ear and folds it shut, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling before bringing his phone to his chest. Both hands clamp down over it, holding, as though the phone acts as some sort of promise to himself that tonight will be one last night with the boy he so undoubtedly loves.
And with one final sigh of resignation, he gets up again to being the final day.
Koushi stresses all day. He spends hours in front of the mirror, making sure that his hair looks like he didn’t try that hard to achieve that flippy thing he always does, making sure that his outfit doesn’t look like he spent hours going through his closet and deciding on a pair of khaki pants and a long-sleeved shirt with almost the entire remainder of his clothes in a wide-spread circle on his bedroom floor.
He waits at the kitchen table, watching the clock as it passes from one minute to the next. At five o’clock, his fourteen-year-old sister tells him she’s spending the night at a friend’s and leaves him waiting in total silence. The house creaks when he’s lost in the quiet passing of time, and he wonders if this was what Daichi meant when he said I don’t want you to wait around for me. He knows he’s being weak now, but he doesn’t care much because today is the last day before things get hard.
The doorbell rings, and a surge of emotion rushes through Koushi’s chest; he sits up, eyes going wide, and hurries himself toward the door.
When it opens, he isn’t sure what he’s expecting – but it certainly isn’t Daichi, wearing a suit and tie, wordlessly holding a big bouquet of red roses in front of his face.
Koushi is speechless. When Daichi finally moves the flowers from their obstructive place, Koushi notes that his face is flushed; the tips of his ears burn a glowing red, and his eyes are cast down and away at the welcome mat on the porch.
“For you,” he says, holding the flowers out to him.
Don’t cry, Koushi warns himself, as with shaking hands, he reaches out to take the flowers from Daichi. You promised yourself you wouldn’t. His eyes burn, but he forces back the tears as he brings the flowers to his nose, breathes in deep, and ushers Daichi inside so that he can prepare a vase for them.
“You really didn’t have to do this,” Koushi says, pouring water into a long, clear vase before unwrapping the flowers from their beautiful packaging and sticking their long, thorny stems into it.
“I don’t have to do anything,” Daichi retorts, pressing a hand to the small of Koushi’s back when he rounds the counter to stick them at the center of the table. “I wanted… um. I wanted to show you that you mean a lot to me.” Koushi gives him a sideways glance, and he can see the heat rising up the boy’s neck. “I know it’s just flowers – probably the least permanent thing I could have given you, I’m so stupid, but even if they don’t last the week, I–”
“Stop,” Koushi says suddenly, turning around to face Daichi fully and pressing his hands at the nape of his neck. His skin feels warm – so warm, he swears he’s on fire beneath his pressed shirt and suit jacket. Koushi’s eyes find his and he smiles up at him, a wide smile that he doesn’t mean to show but does it anyway. “I love them.”
His words are simple, but there’s something that flashes in Daichi’s eyes as he speaks. His lips part; Daichi bends his head, as though the motion is out of his control, and after only a moment of hesitation, he catches Koushi’s lips in a slow kiss. His own lips – rough and chapped – hold Koushi’s for a moment too long, so when he pulls away, Koushi finds himself leaning forward, wanting more.
“Um,” Daichi mumbles, fumbling with his words as he catches one of Koushi’s hands in his, “maybe we could. Um. Later. There’s a reservation at this restaurant, and you– we don’t have to, but I thought we might, um, come here, a-and, after…”
Koushi listens. The quiet of his house is, in itself, the answer they’re both looking for.
“Sure,” he flushes, smiling as he squeezes Daichi’s hand once catching his eyes and hoping he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels.
But just past the nervousness, there’s excitement – and for now, even if it’s only for a little while, it’s enough to take his mind off the ever-approaching deadline.
Daichi leaves tomorrow morning for college, Koushi thinks sadly, so with a heavy heart, he closes his eyes and decides, we’ve still got tonight.
They go to dinner at some fancy place that Koushi is clearly underdressed for. He’s embarrassed when they order, his cotton shirt and khaki pants no where near appropriate for the dress code Daichi exemplifies – as well as everyone else seated for dinner.
The waiter gives them a look when Daichi tells him Koushi’s order, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Koushi shifts his weight awkwardly in his chair, crossing his legs and subconsciously wrapping his arms around himself.
Daichi looks up at him and then, eyebrows pulling together, he reaches one arm across the table for him. His fingertips seem to be reaching, and at once, Koushi laces his fingers through Daichi’s… and even though their touch is simple, it puts him at ease. For now, at least.
“Are you worried?” Daichi asks him.
Koushi laughs lightly. “I think I should be asking you that question.”
Daichi’s expression relaxes a bit. “I mean… I think I’m worried. But, I’m excited, too, to play volleyball. And I guess I’m a bit anxious.”
His answer does not put Koushi’s mind at ease. He’s nervous for Daichi – nervous enough for the both of them. But, more than that, he’s afraid of what comes after all of this, how things between them will change.
Koushi isn’t sure how he’s going to make it through this dinner; he feels sick to his stomach and right now, he’s not sure there’s anything that can help it.
He somehow manages to eat without having to excuse himself from the table. It’s eight o’clock when they leave, and on the subway home, he watches out the window at the lights they pass, at the graffiti-covered walls they speed past with his head fallen on Daichi’s shoulder. It’s not enough time. It’s not enough, these two weeks went by too fast, it’s all ending too soon, it’s not right, it’s not fair, this shouldn’t be goodbye. Not yet. I’m not ready.
Daichi holds his hand as they get off the subway and they walk home together in the darkness. Koushi dreams that the lights that guide them on the sidewalk are beams of sunlight that will come together before they make it home, to give him one more day – just one more day, that’s all he asks for.
They’re trapped in an unsettling quiet. Both of them know. Koushi’s sure that even though Daichi is trying to be strong, just as he always is and always has been, that he’s just as unsure as he is.
Koushi wants to cry out, but he won’t. Not tonight. In the morning, maybe, when Daichi leaves and he’s all by himself, when he’s sure that no one can hear him. Not tonight, though – he’s determined to keep his composure. For his own sake, and for Daichi’s.
He’s worried about breaking his own heart.
Carefully, he unlocks the door and pulls Daichi inside behind him. They know. They know. But it’s not time for the pain to come flooding, to drown them, to swallow them whole in the silence of Koushi’s house – it’s not time for that just yet.
Koushi’s breath shakes as he flicks the light on.
“Do you want to come upstairs?” he asks him quietly.
Daichi nods, kisses the beauty mark just underneath his eye at the foot of the staircase, and with an air of finality – of so many things coming to an end – they head up together with their hands twined together.
They step in through the open door to Koushi’s room, and even though there’s no one home – even though there’s no threat of his parents or his sister or anyone at all barging in – he craves the intimacy of being so completely alone with Daichi that he closes the door. And Daichi doesn’t have to ask why… or maybe he just doesn’t have the guts to.
He turns the yellow light on his nightstand on and sits on his bed, waiting. Koushi looks upward, catching Daichi’s gaze, and before he makes any sort of move, he stares down at Koushi for a long moment.
There’s a sudden heat that churns in the pit of his stomach. The flames are starting to creep in once again – and when Daichi finally bends downward, pressing his hands flat against Koushi’s like some sort of silent prayer, he kisses him.
At first, it’s familiar; it’s the chapped lips, it’s the rough hands, it’s warm and it’s good and it’s safe… but then he opens his mouth and Daichi’s tongue slides in, and suddenly, it’s so much more than that.
It’s shaking. It’s hazardry. It’s a bet, and they know they’re doomed to lose but they can’t afford to care. Daichi presses down, kneeling with his legs on either side of Koushi’s chest, and he changes the game. Koushi’s fumbling hands find the buttons of Daichi’s jacket, and when it hits the floor, the sound seems to echo in his ears. The buttons of Daichi’s pressed shirt come undone, one after the next after the next, until it’s open and there’s nothing stopping Koushi’s hands from roaming up his chest.
“Wait,” Daichi murmurs suddenly, and when he pulls away, it’s to tug at his sleeves and let the shirt flutter to the floor in a pile with his jacket, forgotten the moment it’s gone. He goes back down to kiss Koushi, hot, open-mouthed, wet, needy. They need each other so badly it hurts, and when the name Daichi leaves his lips, in one short breath, he knows there’s no turning back.
Daichi rolls his hips downward, rubbing, their bodies desperately seeking skin against skin. Daichi continues kissing him through it, his hands moving from Koushi’s shoulders, pressing down his sides until they stop at his waist – and then he’s pulling up at the cloth, feeling the curve of marble skin over taut muscles as he does, making the ache in the pit of Koushi’s stomach worsen, burn deeper, cut through him like a knife.
His shirt comes up over his head and at once, their chests are flush against one another. Koushi arches his back, and when Daichi’s hands flatten against his shoulder blades, he holds him for just a moment longer until the need is too strong – and their hips begin to roll up and against each other.
Koushi can feel him.
“I want you,” Daichi mouths against his lips, one palm leaving Koushi’s shoulders to better angle himself, his hand now pressed firmly against the bed. “I want you so fucking bad.”
Koushi nods – I need you now – and Daichi’s warm breath trails from his lips to his neck. His mouth is on Koushi’s angled jawline, though he doesn’t stop moving up against him in time to some soundless rhythm. The longer it continues, the more difficult it becomes to see straight as an ever-growing need clouds Koushi’s vision.
“Daichi,” he moans, “ah, please.” He’s struggling to catch his breath, the heat of their bodies traveling upward until it seeps underneath his skin, and soon, silver hair begins to cling against his forehead.
“We have to take it slow,” Daichi murmurs softly, as though suddenly realizing; his hips slow in the way they grind against Koushi’s and his fingers tangle in the hair at the back of his neck. “Mm, make this count, alright?”
He blinks back the prickling that starts in his eyes and with a forced nod, Koushi bites down on his lower lip.
It’s with a tenderness that Daichi pulls back, brings his body down and away from Koushi until his lips are situated at his hips. Strong hands keep hold at his waist, steading him as he presses his mouth against bare skin, opening and closing into a dozen kisses while Koushi’s head falls back against the mattress. His eyes shut. He focuses on the feeling that he never wants to slip away.
His arm folds over his face, covering his eyes as his teeth bite down harder on his lower lip. Koushi feels the button of his khaki pants coming undone, then the zipper being tugged down, until Daichi pulls away and waits. He’s patient, but ready.
Koushi lifts his hips, and in one slow, fluid movement, his pants slide downward until they’re bunched at his ankles, leaving him almost fully-exposed.
“Ah,” he breathes as Daichi’s fingertips start at the base of his aching cock and trail upward through the fabric; he can feel his underwear dampening as precome starts to collect at the tip, but before he has time to repent for it, his vision goes white.
It happens so fast he barely has time to realize what’s happening; Daichi presses his hot, open mouth against Koushi, just over the thin fabric of his underwear. His lips curve around him, sucking and tonguing him up and down until Koushi’s mouth drops open and a breathy whine pries itself from his throat. He catches himself before he lets another sound slip out, biting back down on his lip as though his life depends on it, and for a moment, he feels like a bomb ready to self-destruct at any second.
Moving his mouth away from the damp fabric, Daichi kneels on the ground and presses his palms to Koushi’s thighs.
“Wanna hear you,” he murmurs, his mouth hovering over Koushi’s aching cock. “Don’t want you to hold back, alright?”
Koushi manages to open both eyes, and when he leans up on his elbows and catches Daichi’s gaze, there’s something in it that he’s seen a thousand times before. He doesn’t have to say anything for Koushi to see exactly what he means.
Trust me.
The words echo in his mind – trust, what people do when they love each other, when they care and respect and know each other on a deeper level than just teammates. It’s almost laughable; Daichi and Koushi stopped being “just teammates” a long, long time ago.
Now, they’re lovers.
“Ah, D-Daichi,” he trembles, voice breaking with each languid stroke Daichi’s tongue takes up his length. He throws his head back, and subconsciously, his hands fist in the sheets. His underwear is soaked, wet with saliva and precome and god, when will he stop teasing. Koushi’s legs begin to shake, and even though he hasn’t come – not yet, at least – Daichi knows that what he’s doing is good.
He pulls away, thumbs hooking in the elastic waistband of Koushi’s underwear, and in an even slower motion, he tugs them off, along with the pants bunched down at his ankles. He lies back against the bed, completely exposed; Koushi’s face reddens as Daichi’s eyes roam up his naked body, taking him in.
“You’ve seen me before,” he tries to laugh, “’s nothing new.”
“Still feels like the first time,” Daichi murmurs, and at once, he presses a kiss to the inside of Koushi’s thigh.
“I-If this was the first time,” Koushi manages, “you probably would have come by now.”
“Ha, ha,” Daichi scoffs, rolling his eyes at the memory. “Very funny.”
“Mm, just kidding,” Koushi cheeses – but the smile leaves his face almost as soon as it arrives when he hears Daichi standing from the floor, beginning to remove his belt.
“Wait, Daichi,” Koushi starts, holding a hand out. Daichi’s hands freeze on the buckle, and from his place on the bed, Koushi leans forward. His cock is completely hard, high-pressed against his flat stomach, and even though it’s uncomfortable, he ignores it, and eagerly leans forward with knees spread apart on the mattress. “Let me.”
Daichi stares at him, expression clouded, but he steps forward and lets his hands fall to his sides. Koushi swallows, painful, and his nimble fingers begin to undo the leather belt from his waist.
Metal clinks against metal, and ah, there it is, the button; he unhooks it, then finds the zipper, and as Koushi peels the black dress pants from his legs, he sees him shiver.
With flat palms, he presses his hands to Daichi’s hipbones. He leans forward, kissing softly above the waistband of Daichi’s boxers, working his way slowly from the left to the right, and then kisses once at the middle where dark hair comes together underneath his belly button. Through the fabric, Koushi places a tentative hand along the curve of Daichi’s cock and curls his fingers around him. Daichi shudders; taking this as a sign to continue, but not having the patience to waste another moment palming at him blindly, Koushi’s fingers slide underneath the waistband and carefully slide his boxers down his legs.
Daichi’s cock is thick; though about the same length as Koushi’s, at the sight of it he instantly recalls the way it used to fill him, the way he used to squeeze his eyes shut tight and pull his knees so tightly against his chest as Daichi pushed in deeper than he thought he ever could.
“You’re so beautiful like his,” Koushi whispers through the silence. Daichi stares down at him for a long moment before his hands find the crown of Koushi’s head, fingers threading through silver strands, and when he leans forward, he presses a kiss into his hair.
Koushi’s mouth rests against Daichi’s thigh, eyes closed and simply breathing before he lifts his hand and takes hold of Daichi’s cock, wrapping his long, smooth fingers around him before guiding it toward his open mouth. At first, he doesn’t suck; his tongue darts out from between his lips and he licks hesitantly the tip, tasting the precome as it leaks from the slit, and with a painful slowness, he drags his tongue along the underside until he reaches the base. His lips curve, and as he returns to the tip, he watches Daichi’s face above.
“F-Fuck,” Daichi chokes out, and with one hand in Koushi’s hair, he presses his other over his mouth – but his fingers aren’t flush against one another, and through the openings between them, he can see Daichi panting heavily.
Their skin is quickly becoming slick; as his lips close around Daichi, his hands roam upward, feeling his curved muscles tightening where skin slides against skin. He stretches his fingers out, then lightly digs his nails against Daichi’s stomach; when he pulls away, small, pink half-moon clefts color brightly against his warm skin.
Saliva dribbles down his chin; Daichi is a mess of obscenities and breathless gasps of Koushi. He’s close, but neither of them want to get too close – so when Koushi’s mouth pops off from the head, Daichi pulls away.
Daichi takes as much time as he possibly can; he grabs hold of Koushi’s hands, their fingers lacing together until he has him on his back against the bed. Koushi can feel beads of sweat forming on his lower back, and without thought, his legs pull upward and he wraps himself loosely around Daichi. He cranes his neck upward until their lips are at once together, and when he feels Daichi naked and hard against his own cock, he can’t stop his hips from bucking upward to meet him. They’re both craving friction – and Koushi can’t help but think that here, in these moments of desperate intimacy, he’s never felt more connected, more whole.
Daichi’s strong, rigid arms position themselves on either side of Koushi’s head and he grinds against him with an intensity he hadn’t moved with before; its aggressive, but tenderly so. Koushi’s hands find their place around Daichi’s neck, damp with sweat. His breathing is heavy, and even though it’s springtime, he swears he can feel their breath clouding in the air.
“I’m, I’m…” Koushi starts, but his voice breaks and Daichi nods, resting his forehead against Koushi’s, slick with sweat; their breathing fogs their consciousness, and with one final jerk of Koushi’s hips, he abandons any and all resolve and lets the tide feverishly come crashing in.
Koushi comes in a flash of color, from the words that leave his lips to the flush of his cheeks, to the growing tension in his stomach suddenly bursting – releasing, throwing his head back on the bed as his body trembles violently. His grip on Daichi tightens – need you closer, please – and as the cry leaves Koushi’s lips, it sets Daichi over the edge. His hand ball into fists in the sheets, and his arms, strong as they are, give out; he collapses against Koushi’s chest, their own come sticky against their bare skin.
They’re out of breath. They’re panting, holding each other, slowly slipping from their high and wishing that it would just last a little longer – but as minutes pass, they both know that it’s over.
Koushi’s fingertips trace patterns against Daichi’s back. “I want you to stay,” he murmurs, legs pulling upward once again as his feet cross over one another at the base of Daichi’s spine.
Gentle kisses press against Koushi’s jawline, both of them savoring the sensation, the feel, the scent, the warmth. Daichi lifts his head, hovering just inches above Koushi’s, and he brings a hand upward to hold against his reddened cheek.
“I’ll have to leave early tomorrow,” he warns him, and Koushi just nods. He knows, but he can’t bear the thought of sleeping through the night without Daichi there by his side.
They shower together. Daichi’s hands card through Koushi’s hair, and Koushi’s arms wrap around his own shoulders. It’s quiet, save for the sound of water coursing against the shower floor. When they step out, Daichi wraps him in a towel and ties his own around his waist, and before they head back into the bedroom, he holds him there for a moment, chest to chest. Koushi prays he can’t feel him shaking.
He lends Daichi a pair of pajama pants and they both dress together in the dark. Koushi pulls the sheets from the bed, drapes his clean comforter over the mattress, and they slide in together, searching for each other in the dim glow of the lamp at Koushi’s nightstand. He flicks it off, and in the darkness, they lay together with a heavy weight pressing down, down, silent and still and so afraid of losing this when the sun rises.
Before morning light breaks through the curtains, Daichi slips out. When Koushi wakes, he’s alone, and when he sees the clock face read the time 9:00, he knows that Daichi is gone.
His arms fold around himself. His legs press up against his chest, and here in the morning of Daichi’s certain departure, Koushi lets the tears roll down his cheeks and drip off the tip of his chin.
It isn’t until later that he finds the letter – tucked just beneath the pillow that still smells like Daichi, he unfolds it as warm, afternoon sunlight streams in through his bedroom window.
His hands tremble and he feels it coming on again. But the aching in his chest is dull now, as with the wrinkled paper pressed to his lips, he lets the words serve as a reminder that even though Daichi might be gone, there’s always the promise of another tomorrow.
A month passes, but in Daichi’s handwriting, the letter at Koushi’s bedside still reads:
It’s not over.