"daichi" means earth. it's not a good word play at all haha
--
It's the spring of their third year and Daichi feels intoxicated with it.
There's something about the sunlight scattered through the branches of the sakura trees in full bloom; the air is suffused with the quality of it, everything lit with the fleeting promise that a new year brings, and time feels suspended in that moment, like Daichi’s heartbeat is in his mouth, like he's forgetting to breathe.
Suga’s head is crowned in wayward petals, stuck there from where they floated down, and more are gathering atop his head from the wind that shakes them gently from the branches; Daichi has to physically stop himself from reaching out and brushing them through the ashen strands of Suga’s hair.
Because that's weird, right? Daichi thinks, as Suga snorts at a petal that lands directly onto his nose. Suga grins with the full of his mouth, all his teeth, and the way his eyes scrunch up is what Daichi thinks perfection must feel like. You don't run fingers through your best friend’s hair. You don't want to tuck the wayward strand behind their ear. You don't want to see if they laugh or slap you in the gut if you try to smooth down that silly tuft that sticks out of the top of their--
“Daichi…! Earth to Daichi!” They're supposed to be walking to Daichi’s place to review for their English final, but it seems that Suga has already started. Both their pronunciations have always been off the mark, but when has that ever stopped them.
Daichi snorts. “That's terrible, Sugar.”
Oh. Daichi can feel the heat spreading across his face; he can feel his chest grow hot with it. “I--”
“Oh, so you do think I'm sweet. That's very kind of you,” Suga teases as he sidesteps completely. Daichi feels a little faint. “Especially after you called me a monster for adding more chilli oil to my noodles. It's not my fault you're a weakling, Daichi.” Suga shakes his head ruefully, as if reliving that dark moment of disappointment in the long history of their friendship; the petals all slide off in that instance, and Suga’s hair is impossibly lovely in the gold of the afternoon light. Suga is impossibly lovely, and that’s when Daichi thinks, 365 days of this, I could do 365 days of this, even when everything has changed, because nothing will have really changed at all.
Daichi clears his throat; or he tries to, but his bravery is stuck in there between the space of his lungs and the passage of his mouth, and all he gets is a thump on the back from Suga and a slightly worried look.
Petals continue to fall and Daichi swallows his bravery back down; it’s early yet in spring, and time will take him where he needs to be.
FILL: TEAM IMAIZUMI SHUNSUKE/NARUKO SHOUKICHI, G
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"daichi" means earth. it's not a good word play at all haha
--
It's the spring of their third year and Daichi feels intoxicated with it.
There's something about the sunlight scattered through the branches of the sakura trees in full bloom; the air is suffused with the quality of it, everything lit with the fleeting promise that a new year brings, and time feels suspended in that moment, like Daichi’s heartbeat is in his mouth, like he's forgetting to breathe.
Suga’s head is crowned in wayward petals, stuck there from where they floated down, and more are gathering atop his head from the wind that shakes them gently from the branches; Daichi has to physically stop himself from reaching out and brushing them through the ashen strands of Suga’s hair.
Because that's weird, right? Daichi thinks, as Suga snorts at a petal that lands directly onto his nose. Suga grins with the full of his mouth, all his teeth, and the way his eyes scrunch up is what Daichi thinks perfection must feel like. You don't run fingers through your best friend’s hair. You don't want to tuck the wayward strand behind their ear. You don't want to see if they laugh or slap you in the gut if you try to smooth down that silly tuft that sticks out of the top of their--
“Daichi…! Earth to Daichi!” They're supposed to be walking to Daichi’s place to review for their English final, but it seems that Suga has already started. Both their pronunciations have always been off the mark, but when has that ever stopped them.
Daichi snorts. “That's terrible, Sugar.”
Oh. Daichi can feel the heat spreading across his face; he can feel his chest grow hot with it. “I--”
“Oh, so you do think I'm sweet. That's very kind of you,” Suga teases as he sidesteps completely. Daichi feels a little faint. “Especially after you called me a monster for adding more chilli oil to my noodles. It's not my fault you're a weakling, Daichi.” Suga shakes his head ruefully, as if reliving that dark moment of disappointment in the long history of their friendship; the petals all slide off in that instance, and Suga’s hair is impossibly lovely in the gold of the afternoon light. Suga is impossibly lovely, and that’s when Daichi thinks, 365 days of this, I could do 365 days of this, even when everything has changed, because nothing will have really changed at all.
Daichi clears his throat; or he tries to, but his bravery is stuck in there between the space of his lungs and the passage of his mouth, and all he gets is a thump on the back from Suga and a slightly worried look.
Petals continue to fall and Daichi swallows his bravery back down; it’s early yet in spring, and time will take him where he needs to be.