#sugasemi

Oikawa raised an eyebrow- how had he sculpted them so perfectly? Bastard. “You? Sugawara Koushi, man of pastel sweaters so soft they shouldn’t be legal? Who, last I saw, couldn’t ride a skateboard without eating asphalt? Who-”

“Oh, shut up!” He smacked Oikawa’s arm, but his friend only grinned as he leaned even closer. He smelled good, dizzyingly so, and Suga’s hand twitched up. He nearly dropped the skateboard, nearly twisted his fingers into Oikawa’s lapels and dragged him in, but he dropped them back, shook his head. “Fine, I got them from Ryuu. The skateboard is Yuu’s old one.”

Having them both dress him, throwing a dozen different combinations at him before they’d finally planted him in front of the mirror in a black tank top with a golden skull, loose black pants with a ridiculously low crotch, and matching black snapback had been a fiasco, but it paid off. Especially with Oikawa’s eyes roaming along him, all too blatantly following the path of his collarbones, down his arms, to where the arm holes gaped open enough that his ribs flashed with every shift of his arms.

It made him feel good - not necessarily comfortable about the clothes, but it was enough to keep those eyes on him, to make him the object of Oikawa’s attention and show more than he usually did. Anything goes for Halloween. Clothes, drinks, and even, with a bold warmth in his chest, inhibitions.

Suga grinned, reached up and slipped a hand through Oikawa’s hair. He could feel the gel under his fingers, could watch the way Oikawa’s eyes fluttered further open, lips parting. Suga swallowed against the nervous twist of his stomach, and he leaned in, pressed a chaste kiss to Oikawa’s cheek. “Thanks for inviting me,” he nearly sang when he leaned back, watching how pink filled Oikawa’s cheeks startlingly quickly.

He recovered almost instantly though, swift and smooth as ever, with an easy but genuine smile to go with it. “Of course I would. I adore you, Kou-chan. And you’d all kill me if I didn’t, let’s be real.”

Suga whipped his snapback off and smacked Oikawa with it, smirking as Oikawa shrieked and ducked - and, hopefully, completely missed the way Suga’s cheeks flushed bright red. You’re going to kill me, talking like that. You all are. But he couldn’t resist it, loved it when those smiles were on him, so varied, even just from Oikawa, all for him. All because of him. It was intoxicating, breathtaking.

He relished in it, and he certainly loved how Oikawa straightened up, those bright brown eyes only on him as Oikawa shook his head in wonder. Even more when Oikawa’s fingers came up and skimmed Suga’s cheek as Oikawa leaned in. With those fingers under his chin, drawing him in, it was impossible to resist that soft smile, warmth in his touch. Suga pecked Oikawa on the lips, closed his eyes as Oikawa thumbed his cheeks.

Warm breath  ghosted across his face. Oikawa’s lips pressed on his nose, his cheeks, leaving sparks and warmth in every press. He was giggling and smiling like a fool, squirming as Oikawa peppered his face with kisses that made his chest fluttery. He turned his face, let Oikawa kiss what seemed like every inch of his face before Oikawa pulled back, cheeks still pink, smiling softly.

Suga raised his hand, brushed his fingers across the back of Oikawa’s hand. He smirked. “You’re so gay.”

Oikawa snorted, pinched Suga’s cheek and pulled it out, almost painful. “Well, considering you’re the one with all the boyfriends-”

“Shh.” Suga flapped his hands at Oikawa, “I can’t resist. You’re all so handsome.”

“Damn right we are.” Suga laughed, pulled at the fingers pinching his cheek, tugged down on Oikawa’s hand as he rose up, pressed a quick kiss to Oikawa’s mouth. “I’m gonna walk around, see everyone.”

Oikawa nodded rapidly, throat working, but no words coming out.

Suga had to bite back a giggle as he backed away, wiggling his fingers until the crowd swallowed him up, a darkness broken by flashing lights sweeping him up. It was crowded, but he was grinning in the heated, sweaty air as he wormed his way through. Familiar faces from the campus swam in and out of the lights, some easier to recognize beneath the layers of face paint or makeup or the occasional prosthetic.

Yachi and Shimizu were swaying together near the edge, Yachi’s fairy wings glittering beneath the strobing lights, Shimizu haunting in her long, sheer black dress, witch hat adorned with purple fairy lights. A little further in, he had to skirt around a couple it took a little too long to place, Akaashi in a very revealing police uniform, their hat clutched in Bokuto’s hand as he kissed them hard, probably smearing his zombie face paint on their face.

Others milled around - Hinata in a ghost outfit, Daichi as a low-budget mummy with toilet paper wrapped around him from head to toe, and Kenma as a calico cat, complete with fluffy ears and a tail. At the music booth, Tsukishima stood with one hand on his headphones, or maybe touching the Frankenstein bolts in his forehead, eyes focused on the computer and sound board before him, fingers hovering overtop the flickering colors. Beside him, Yamaguchi stood over the light panel, grinning as he worked the equipment with a finesse Suga could only stop and marvel at for a beat too long, even more impressive with the chunky hero’s gloves he wore, something from that new hero anime.

Suga turned - ran straight into a chest and he stuttered back a step as a warm hand curled around his elbow. Gold eyes swam close, lips pulled back in a brilliant grin as Kuroo pulled back, shaking his head. “You oughtta watch where you’re going, little crow.”

Suga snorted and poked Kuroo in the cheek, pushed him a little further back, urging the heat in his cheeks to die away, for his heart to slow. First Oikawa, now Kuroo - his heart wasn’t built to take so many handsome men in one go. Especially with Kuroo in what looked like a lab coat that had been burned on the cuffs and bottom, hanging open to reveal a mostly unbuttoned shirt and a tattered tank top beneath.

Through the layers rips and tears, Suga could see Kuroo’s stomach and chest, lights playing across the tattoos there. He’d followed them once or twice, tracing the black silhouette of the cat on his hip, the trails of flowers over the scars on his chest, fascinated. He wanted to do it again, wanted to slip his hands beneath Kuroo’s shirt and feel the shifting of his muscles, follow those inked lines once more.

Not now. Definitely not now.

He bit his tongue, dragged his eyes back up to Kuroo. Those golden eyes were still on him, the playful glint in them almost dangerous as Kuroo raised a beaker filled with a violent blue liquid, topped off with a cork. “Want some? It’s sprite and vodka with some blue food coloring.”

Suga’s nose crinkled and he flicked it. “Did you steal that from the lab?”

“Professor Takeda won’t know until tomorrow, and by then it’ll be back in it’s place.”

“Unless you break it or get so hungover you forget.”

Kuroo grimaced, morphed into a sheepish smile. “At least he likes me.”

It’s hard not to. With that twisted smile, those bright eyes, and that wild hair - Kuroo was totally different from Oikawa, but that didn’t mean that he was any less intoxicating to be around. Enough that, when Kuroo draped an arm over Suga’s shoulders and drew him close, he let himself be reeled in, tucked into Kuroo’s side. He smelled good, musky, alcohol already on his breath, but he was upright and grinning as he bumped Suga with his hip.

“Give me a dance?”

“Can you dance with that beaker?”

“Can you dance with that skateboard?”

“... Fair point.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes, but, with his arm around Suga, he guided them both through the crowd, over to Kenma, who leaned against a window, Hinata bouncing by his side. “Kenma!”

The blond glanced over, one eyebrow already raised. He held out his hand, and Kuroo plopped the beaker into his open palm and, when Suga offered it, passed the skateboard off as well. “Thanks, Kenma!”

“I hate you, Kuro.”

Kuroo blew Kenma a kiss before he spun around, barely giving Suga time to wave at his friends before the crowd swallowed them once more. Bodies undulated to the beat, to the flashing lights above, the scent of sweat and alcohol in the air. Black lights flickering from above made things glow, lips and eyes and designs standing out in stark contrast to their skin. And Kuroo, beneath the black lights, beneath the flashes of green and purple and blue and a dozen other colors, looked positively wild, teeth and eyes Cheshire-like. His hands found Suga between the heavy beats that rocked his body, pulled him close and closer still until they were almost chest to chest in the crowd.

The song shifted, dropping the heavy bass for something brighter, quicker, and Kuroo grinned as he started to move. Kuroo was anything but a graceful dancer, but he’d never tried to pelvic thrust his way through Suga, and this time was no different. Instead, he spun around, pretending to hold a microphone and horrifically lip-syncing to the lyrics as he swayed his hips. He waggled his eyebrows, encouraging, and Suga snorted, shook his head as he started to move too.

Kuroo grinned, goofy and beautiful, and Suga had to close his eyes, let the lights flash and break the darkness, his heart thumping to the quick beat. He swayed, rolling his hips and body, hands working along his sides, his chest, putting on a show for those eyes he could feel on him, delightfully heavy.

Sure enough, when he let his eyes open, Kuroo was watching him, smiling dopily, his movements down to mere swaying as he watched. Keeping his distance until Suga beckoned him over.

The control tasted sweet on his tongue and he relished in it, savored the sweet taste and the way it made his chest bubble a little too much as he dropped his head back, exposing his neck. One hand rose, pulled his snapback away to rake through his hair, and the other slid along his thigh, clutching the excess fabric as he dropped to the beat, ass brushing the ground for a moment. Kuroo’s grin turned feral and he watched, eyes sharp, as Suga rocked his way up, hips moving, head bobbing from side to side.

Their eyes met.

He curled his fingers.

That was all the encouragement Kuroo needed to step in, standing over Suga so far that he had to crane his head back, smiling. His hands were hot on Suga, one pushing his tank top up to thumb at the skin on his hip, the other on his shoulder, squeezing gently. It was hard to focus, the subtle smell of cologne in his nose, the twitching and tightening of those fingers, the way Kuroo’s lips moved, smile widening. “Can the pretty little skater boy give the mad scientist a kiss?”

Suga bumped their foreheads together, and Kuroo whined, a tiny, pathetic sound nearly lost in the heavy bass all around them. Definitely lost when Suga grabbed hold of Kuroo’s lapel with one hand as the other slipped up, curled into that wild, coarse hair, and pulled him in. A surprised inhale washed across his face, warm, smelling of lime, and Suga grinned into it as he tipped his head to the side, keeping the kiss soft, though he lingered on and on, until his lungs were burning and he was grinning so hard his cheeks ached. He pulled back, fingers loosening in Kuroo’s hair.

His boyfriend looked dazed, smiling brightly as he leaned in for another, and another still. After the fourth, Suga pressed his fingertips to Kuroo’s chest, giggling as he pulled back and shook his head. “So clingy, Kuroo.”

“It’s ‘cause you’re beautiful, Koushi,” Kuroo huffed, hugged Suga closer. His nose rubbed along Suga’s neck, weight heavy on him, a pleasant reminder that lasted for a moment before Kuroo pulled back, patted Suga’s arm with the sweetest of smiles. “Go find the others. Semi’s looking beautiful tonight.”

Suga flushed, ducked to hide his head as Kuroo’s wild laughter rose over the steadily thumping music. “Asshole,” Suga grumbled, but warmth was rampant in his chest, and he still rose up onto his tiptoes and pecked Kuroo on the chin before he stepped back, those arms slipping away from him to let the crowd of dancers fill the space between them.

He made it all of two steps before he nearly steamrolled someone in a bodysuit that glowed beneath the black lights, glowing white lines on their cheeks. “Shirabu?”

The person turned fully, snorting when they realized who it was. “You’re too clumsy off the court,” Shirabu said flatly, a smirk chasing the words a second later.

“And you’re an asshole no matter what,” Suga shot back.

Shirabu’s eyes glittered, flicking between black and amber as the lights flashed overhead, colors playing across his face. And the hand that appeared on his shoulder a moment later. Ushijima stood over him, face painted like Frankenstein’s monster, but otherwise in normal clothing. “Did Shirabu talk you into the face paint?”

“Satori told me I had to wear some sort of costume to the party. This was his idea.” Suga followed the finger Ushijima pointed past him to Tendou, who thrashed on the dancefloor, bony arms flying everywhere, his Frankenstein’s Bride wig still on through what seemed to be sheer force of will. Suga chuckled and shook his head.

“He’s a mess, but he’s our mess,” Shirabu sighed.

“Oh, so you’re admitting it now?”

Shirabu leveled a glare at Suga before he huffed, turned into Ushijima with a roll of his eyes. Those long arms and heavy hands settled around him, almost big enough to swallow the sharp shoulder blades that poked out in his bodysuit. Shirabu glanced back. “Eita’s on the porch. They said they ‘got too hot’.” Suga straightened up, uncaring of the satisfied grin that curled Shirabu’s lips. “Very Pavlov of you. Go on.”

Suga flipped Shirabu off, got a middle finger tipped in a glowing nail in return, and melted back into the crowd. Figuring out which part of outside was difficult. The front porch only had some of the girls from the volleyball team who all chirped hellos at him and a handful of people from the soccer team clustered by the jack-o-lanterns that lined the steps. The back yard, occupied by two blow-up kiddie pools, fairy lights in fake cobwebs filled with spiders strung between tiki torches, and far too many people, was a bust too.

But, on the third door that led to a small corner porch tucked into the side of the house, was success. In the orange lights from the paper lanterns shaped like pumpkins, he could see Semi was seated on a swing beside Kageyama, their hands linked between them, Semi holding a bottle of water to their neck. Suga shut the door carefully, and two pairs of eyes snapped over. Two smiles, one thinner and weaker than the other.

“Hey there,” Semi said softly.

Kageyama raised his hand, wiggled his fingers - thankfully not splattered with fake blood, unlike the rest of his outfit, a doctor’s scrubs where something had clearly gone wrong.

Suga crouched down in front of them, set his hand on their interlocked ones. Semi’s fingers twitched against his. Clammy and cool. Almost ironic with deep blue coat they wore, a black sash around their waist, black pants, and white-tipped gray fur around their neck. A white crown was nestled in their hair, and, all over, they’d sewn silver and blue snowflakes of different sizes into their costume.

“Too hot, huh?”

Semi grimaced. “Too many people.”

Suga nodded, squeezed their hands. They looked a little pale, even beneath the foundation and blue tinged makeup on their face. Kageyama looked well at least, though there was a deep crease in his brow, and it looked like he’d picked at the hole in his sleeve until it gaped open, bitten at his fingers until the skin was red and frayed.

Suga bit his lip, glanced at the door, then Semi. “You have your medication?”

“Already took it.” Semi dragged their hand through their hair with a grimace. “Sorry. I know this is a pain.”

Suga flicked them on the knee. “You’re never a pain, dork.”

Semi stuck their tongue out. Kageyama caught it between his fingers, pinched it. Semi grunted, pulled their hand away so they could slap at him until he released their tongue. “You’re right,” they said, eyes narrowed at Kageyama, “Tobio is the pain, always grabbing my tongue like an asshole.”

“Would you rather have a kiss?” Suga teased.

Semi’s white-coated eyebrows rose. A smile appeared, slow and shy. They dug their heels into the concrete beneath them, pulled themself closer to Suga. He met Semi halfway, beaming as he pecked them on the nose, curled his fingers into their silky hair. They laughed, a soft puff of breath against his face, and then he closed the rest of the distance, fully kissed them beneath the ghosts fluttering from the bar above them. Semi’s mouth twitched, a hand curling into Suga’s shirt as Semi leaned closer, pulled him in.

And Suga just grinned, pressed a second kiss to their lips, then a third before they pulled apart. Semi’s smile was sweet, shy, and Suga curled his fingers in their hair. “You’re doing great, Eita.”

Their lips crinkled, but they didn’t protest. Just stayed silent and let their eyes flutter as they pushed their head into Suga’s hand, relishing the way he worked his fingers through their hair. With them quiet, slowly relaxing, Suga turned to Kageyama. Those gray-blue eyes were focused on Semi, but they shifted over, settled on him.

“Were you with them the whole time?”

“They texted me. I couldn’t find them at first.”

“In his defense,” Semi said softly, “I wasn’t entirely clear about where I was. I wasn’t seeing clearly.”

“It was… interesting. I couldn’t quite tell what some of the words were supposed to be saying.”

Suga snorted, rocked forward onto his knee. He curled his fingers beneath Kageyama’s cheek, lulled him forward to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Thank you, Tobio,” he said softly.

Kageyama merely stared at him, mouth not quite working as it formed around words. In the near-dark, it was difficult to see, but Suga was certain that his cheeks had flushed darker. As the newest to his little arrangement, and the youngest, Kageyama hadn’t quite grown accustomed to the shows of affection, let alone in public areas. And that makes him so much cuter.

Suga hummed to himself, just for a second, before he turned back to Semi, tugged on their hair to make their eyes flicker open. “Can I text the others? They can bring you something to drink and eat if you want, or just talk.”

Semi nodded, and Suga fired off a text, one that Kuroo and Oikawa responded to almost instantly. They both appeared together, Kuroo cradling several water bottles, Oikawa with his arms filled with Halloween snacks that he dumped on the ground beside Suga, bat-shaped brownies and cookies iced like pumpkins and candy spilling on the concrete, cellophane wrappers crinkling.

Suga snorted, but he pulled a brownie from the pile, passed it up to Semi, who unwrapped it and bit off a wing as they inspected the other two. “If I didn’t know better,” they teased, “I’d say you were trying to impress someone.”

Oikawa wiggled his eyebrows, glitter catching what little light surrounded them. “What can I say, Eita-chan? I have to make Kou-chan fall in love with me!”

“I’m pretty sure he’s already there,” Kuroo shot back, “Just with three others too.”

He was smug, no doubt about it, but Oikawa and the others didn’t take offense. They just gave their own little smiles, Kuroo’s wide enough for his dimples to make an appearance, Oikawa’s showing off a canine with a small gem embedded, Semi’s eyes crinkling, Kageyama’s lips just barely twitching. All so different, and so very beautiful, especially beneath the soft orange glow of the pumpkins overhead, the faint sound and thump of music drifting through the cool night air.

Suga sank back, reached out. Kageyama took one hand, almost reverent as he pulled it close, settled it onto his lap, his fingers automatically finding the flesh of Suga’s palm and gently kneading in.

Oikawa took the other, and he laced their fingers together, his hand so warm against Suga’s, so familiar in how his fingers settled between the fine bones beneath his skin.

Of course, no one else is. Suga only did it because it seemed funny to try and stage dive during a really slow song, in a room with less than fifty people in it. Akaashi had bet that he wouldn't dare, which was a pretty stupid thing to do with Suga; he should have known after even the short time they'd been acquainted, that there wasn't much that Suga wouldn't do.

Akaashi stands in the middle of the room, although it's the back of the crowd, and gives him a slow round of applause.

Suga theatrically bows, spinning his finger around as he does so. 'Why thank you, I aim to please.'

'You are a grade A dick.'

Suga points to the crowd. 'If I was a dick, those people would have let me fall. They love me, and so do you. Pay up.'

Akaashi crosses his arms. 'We never agreed on a bet! I just said you wouldn't do it.'

'Come on! At least buy me a drink. Let's get tequila shots.'

'I think you've had enough.'

'OK, compromise. What about a pint of water and a tequila slammer?'

Akaashi laughs with a snort. 'How is that a compromise?'

'Just is!' He slaps his backside, and slips behind him towards the corridor. 'Get them in, while I go to the loo.'

As he walks, people wave at him, call his name. He doesn't know who they all are, but he's probably met them in the past. That's just a consequence of having one of those faces, one of those personalities, he guesses. People meet him once, and think they know him, and he's too friendly to put them straight.

Right now, he doesn't stop to chat. He has to get to the toilet as quickly as possible, and he just hopes there's a free cubicle. He can't believe this is happening now, but if he's lucky, his instincts could be wrong.

Although they very rarely are.

There's one other man in there, at the urinal, and thankfully, all three cubicles are free. He chooses the one furthest from the door.

Carefully, he pulls down his trousers and underpants, and finds he was right to be worried, as a stain stares back at him.

'Fuck,' he says quietly under his breath. He does the mental arithmetic, and curses himself for not bringing anything with him. He shoves a wad of paper into his underwear, and flushes the toilet, just for show, before washing his hands and leaving.

The corridor is empty, almost everyone is watching the show. He knocks on the door next to the men's room, waits, and then pushes his way in.

He waits again, once inside, but doesn't hear anything. 'Hello?' he says, making his voice higher than its usual tone. There's no answer.

Quickly, he moves over to the machine, finding loose change in his pocket. He puts a pound against the slot, seeing the sign seconds before he lets the coin drop, and it comes back out in the slot at the bottom.

'Out of order' is scrawled across a piece of paper taped to the front of the machine, and Suga's exasperated cry of, 'Fuck,' is much louder this time.

He runs back out, before anyone comes in, and finds the corridor still empty. He has a moment to think about what to do, there's time, he tells himself, he doesn't need to rush.

The staff seems the first obvious choice, although that depends on who's working. As he walks towards the bar area, he begs the universe to give him one of the girls, or that cute dark haired one who never smiles. Basically, anyone other than the one with green hair would be perfect.

'Fuck,' he says for a third time, seeing a green fringe bobbing around among glasses hanging from above him.

'Suga! Where've you been hiding, gorgeous?' Suguru leans on one elbow and sticks a tongue out.

Suga puts up his hands in surrender. 'Hey. Listen, usually, I love this idiotic banter we have, and I promise next time, I'll give back as good as you give. But today, I haven't got the time, so please don't be a twat.'

'Aw, baby, why so cruel?' He leans over further, and tips Suga's chin up with the tip of his finger. 'What d'ya need?'

'Sanitary towel. The machine is bust. Please tell me there's someone here who has something?'

Suguru releases him, and shakes his head. ''Fraid not. Just me today.'

'Are there any girls you know here tonight?'

'Nope. There's hardly anyone in anyway, but no one I know. Not a popular band, I'm afraid.'

'You can say that again.' A lot of the gathering have already gone, and as Suga looks around, there's even less people than when he was crowd-surfing. The security have stopped even bothering to prowl the front row, there's so little movement.

Suga spots Akaashi looking for him, and raises a hand so he knows where he is, and gets a nod in return.

To his side, he senses movement, and looks up to see a tall-ish man, standing fairly closely to them, looking slightly shifty, but ultimately non-threatening.

At first glance, Suga gets an impression of Akaashi; his face is similar, particularly around the eyes, even though he's wearing a beanie pulled so far onto his head that his hair is pressed so it almost covers them. There's something harder there, in his expression; whether it's just that he knows Akaashi better so he seems softer, or maybe it's the angle of his eyebrows, drawn down over his nose.

'Urm, sorry to bother you. I couldn't help over-hearing.' He starts digging in the bag hanging across his body, lifting the flap covered in patches. 'I have... hang on, I know it's here somewhere.'

Suga watches, unsure of what's happening, whether this is a welcome development for his predicament or not. The other man looks up at him, smiles apologetically as he still shifts the contents of his bag around. Suga spots a headphone jack poking out, a bottle of orange pop, and then he pulls out a T-tool, before spotting what he's looking for wedged under it.

'Here!' He hands a small zippered pouch to Suga, who looks at it confused. It's printed all over with pink roses, a large Vans logo in the centre. 'It has what you need.'

Suga hesitates before he unzips the pouch, and inside finds a couple of tampons, three different sizes of sanitary towel, and a blister pack of pain killers. He looks up at his saviour, who's smiling very slightly. He isn't sure what to say, he's never felt quite so grateful to a stranger in his life. 'Thank you so much.'

'No problem.'

'Let me go and... use this, and then I'll bring it straight back. Promise.' He runs back to the bathroom, looking back over his shoulder as Suguru hands the stranger a bottle of beer, refusing payment.

When he returns, Akaashi is also now sitting at the bar, talking to the owner of the pouch; well, he's talking towards him, but not getting much in return.

They all look up, seemingly grateful for Suga's return. His good mood is back, helped by being able to remove the scratchy toilet roll from his underwear, and the effects of the painkillers, placebo though they might be right now.

'Please, let me pay you back for that,' he says to the stranger, handing back the pouch.

'No, please, it's fine.'

'At least let me buy you a drink?'

The stranger lifts his still half-full beer, and starts to turn him down, but Akaashi turns and says, 'Don't bother trying to say no, he'll never stop nagging you until you say yes. May as well give in now.'

'Well, I don't really need another drink, but I am quite hungry. Do they have snacks here?'

Suguru looks at him, making a pfft sound through pursed lips. 'We have crisps somewhere I think? No one has ever bought food here. Literally no one.'

'Maybe they would if you had anything, fuckwit.'

The stranger stifles a laugh at Suga, so he looks and smiles at him. 'Well, never mind. Maybe another time.' He stands up, and starts to walk away.

'Hang on!' Suga touches his arm, causing him to flinch slightly. 'Sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you. Urm, why don't we go and get some food? I'm not really in the mood to stay here anyway, this band are shit, and you know, the obvious reasons. I could really go for some chips. Or a kebab!'

'I told you, he won't take no for an answer,' Akaashi stands up. 'I fancy some food too, haven't had a kebab in ages.'

The stranger looks at them both in turn, a smirk growing on his face. 'I can't really leave until the band finishes. Urm, the drummer is my best friend.'

Akaashi nearly wets himself laughing, and Suga looks genuinely apologetic, probably for the first time in his life. 'I'm so sorry. You've been so nice, and all I've done is badger you, and then insult your friend.'

'It's alright. They are a bit shit, I never said I liked them. I do want to support Reon though, so I'm going to stay.'

'Akaashi's dating a drummer! What's his band again?'

'He's called Koutarou Bokuto,' Akaashi says, avoiding having to say the band's name. Suga pulls his phone out, and starts flicking through his photo album.

'No fucking way!' the stranger becomes suddenly animated. 'He's like, the best drummer I've ever seen! Fuck, Reon will be so jealous I met you!'

Akaashi laughs. 'I'm not him, you know.'

Suga holds his phone up for the stranger, showing him a picture of the three of them together on a night out; Bokuto is holding the phone at arm's length, pressing the side of Akaashi's face into his, with Suga pressing on the other side, doing a peace sign with his spare hand. 'Proof!'

'I believed you, I was just surprised.' He smiles, more than he has done yet. 'Is he as nice as he seems?'

Akaashi and Suga both say, 'Yes,' in unison, and then look at each other and laugh.

'I mean, he would say that, cause they're going out,' Suga says, pointing a thumb towards Akaashi, who's blushing slightly, 'But he really is a good bloke. Isn't he, Akaashi?'

'Well, I think so, obviously, but he does seem to get on with everyone.'

Suga closes his phone, and slaps a hand to his forehead. 'Hey, I just realised! We don't even know your name yet!'

'I'm Eita,' he says, holding out a hand.

'I'm Akaashi, and this is Suga,' he says, shaking the hand and gesturing to Suga who waves.

'Suga? Really?' He stills, looking more closely at Suga as he nods. 'This is a turn up. I'm more flattered than I thought I would be.'

'Eh?'

'I get mistaken for you. A lot.'

'People think you're me?' Suga's face betrays the genuine joy and surprise at being mistaken for Eita, and Akaashi can't help but grin. 'But you're so... tall. And stuff.'

Suga looks at Eita's athletic figure, sinewy arms, thick neck muscle, and is overwhelmed that someone, somewhere might think he looks like this, even a little bit. Eita even says it happens a lot.

Eita gives Suga an appraising look in return. 'I guess our hair is quite similar, but you're a bit shorter than me.'

He feels like crying that Eita has ignored their obvious differences, but just says, 'Our hair isn't that similar! Yours is dark, isn't it?' The visible ends poking out look almost black, and he has no idea why Eita thinks the hair might be what make people mistake him for Suga.

Eita just smiles, and pulls off his beanie, revealing a full head of ash blonde hair, the black just on the tips.

Akaashi laughs again, and shakes his head. He looks between them. 'It's really quite uncanny, you could be brothers.' He pulls at the hair on Suga's crown.' He even has a cowlick in the same place.'

By this time, Suguru has noticed Eita now has no hat on, and is pointing at them both and shouting, 'Oh my God, there are two of you! Witchcraft!'

There's a lull in the background music, so the three of them look towards the stage. The band have gone, but the lights are still down, presumably they think people might request an encore. From the silence in the room, and the groups of people walking towards the door, Suga thinks the concert is probably over.

'So, now it's quieter, I can hear you properly. I need answers. You know an awful lot of people, Suga,' says Eita, crossing his arms. 'Some of them are pretty mad at you, too. What on earth do you get up to in your free time?'

'Bit of this, bit of that,' he replies, waving a hand.

Akaashi butts in. 'He says he's a manga artist, but I've never actually seen any evidence of that.'

'I have a sketchbook!'

'It's empty,' he says sideways to Eita, who laughs.

'It won't be. Eventually. I know the story, I just need to write it.'

'What's it about?' Eita asks, finishing his beer.

'Skateboarders.'

'Ah. Probably why I keep being mistaken for you. I bet we travel in the same circles.'

'You skate?' Suga asks, knowing full well from the T-tool he probably does, but wanting to look like he wasn't nosing at the contents of his bag.

'I do indeed.'

'Cool! Me too! We should go skating together, sometime. I can probably introduce you to some big name skaters. Akaashi here works at Parklife.'

Eita looks at him, and nods. 'Nice one, I've seen that.'

'S'how you met Bokuto, right?' When Akaashi nods again, Suga turns back to Eita. 'He's a photographer for them.'

Eita quietly says, 'Small world,' before turning to the stage. 'I think that's it. I'm going to go and find Reon and tell him we're going for food. Can I invite him, if he wants to come?'

'Of course!' Suga says, enthusiastically, happy that Eita is going to let him treat him to food. The painkillers have kicked in, and after being worried he would have to bow out early, Eita's kindness means he's been able to stay and enjoy the evening.

'OK, I'll be as quick as possible.' He clenches a hand around Suga's forearm. 'Don't go anywhere.'

The look he gives Suga is more intense than strictly necessary, making him gulp. 'I won't.'

He turns and walks away quickly, the messenger bag now across his lower back, hands in pockets. Suga watches him go, stunned into silence.

Akaashi is first to speak. 'I cannot believe I just met Gabriel.'

Suga turns sideways, confused. 'Gabriel?'

'Yeah, that's what me and Chikara call him. 'Cause he looks like an angel. He's here a lot, I'm really shocked you've never seen him before.'

'Maybe I have and just never noticed him.' He stretches out his back, and sits down, rubbing the sides of his stomach and wincing.

'That's cause you're too busy making sure everyone else has noticed you.' He sits next to Suga, and rubs his shoulder. 'Everything OK?'

'Yeah, just stomach ache.'

He looks at him with sympathy. 'How did you even get talking to him, anyway?'