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The last thing Suga hears before a volleyball-coloured blur comes flying at his face and the world goes dark is Tanaka gleefully roaring, “Take this, Tsukishima!”
Which isn’t all that surprising, really.
*
Suga wakes up on the floor. The overhead lights are dazzling, and he squints. It quickly occurs to him that this was not a good idea, because the general vicinity of his left eye is in a spectacular amount of pain. Also, he realises, he can’t see out of it. That’s slightly worrying. Ukai appears above him, looking furious. His mouth is a grim line, until he opens it to say, “I robbed the Louvre.”
“What?” Suga asks, because he can’t have heard that right, and it comes out as, “Nuhh.” He tries to sit up, but Ukai shoves him back down.
“I robbed the Louvre,” Ukai says again. Clearly he’s lost his mind, and Suga knows better than to argue with a crazy person, so he blinks and says, “Guh.” Someone prods at the left side of his face and wow, that hurts. Suga tries to bat the hand away, and Ukai grabs his wrist, pins it to the floor and bellows, “Goddammit, Sugawara, don’t move!” and oh, okay, that makes more sense. It’s like Ukai’s voice is the catalyst, because sound suddenly floods back to him all at once: frantic voices above his head and someone who sounds like Tanaka yelling incoherently across the room.
“Shup,” Suga says masterfully.
“He’s slurring pretty bad,” Ukai says to someone Suga can’t see. He looks back down at Suga, and Suga realises that the anger on Ukai’s face isn’t meant for him. “Sugawara, do you know what day it is?”
It’s an easy question, and Suga knows it, he does, he just needs a second to think about it, but his mind has gone blank, and in the end he manages, “Paris?” Judging from the terror on Ukai’s face, it was the wrong answer.
“Jesus Christ, tell the ambulance to get here now,” Ukai snaps, and while his angry concern is heart-warming, it’s also a little disconcerting, because Suga has never seen him look this scared and wow, is he dying? Because dying from a volleyball to the face would be the most humiliating way to go and they’ll probably put it on his grave, Sugawara Koushi, aged 17, couldn’t dodge fast enough, and his dad is going to be there crying all alone and and and—
“Suga,” someone else says softly, and there are fingers running through his hair. “It’s okay, shh, it’s okay.” And, oh, Daichi is there, Daichi doesn’t let bad things happen, that’s nice, except Suga’s stomach is suddenly lurching with a definite sense of urgency.
“G’na,” he mumbles. Daichi understands, because of course he does. “Coach,” he says, and Coach says, “Azumane,” and then three pairs of hands are rolling him onto his side so he doesn’t choke on his own vomit, which is rather thoughtful of them, really. Someone holds his shoulders and someone else cradles his head and it would be nice if he weren’t currently in the process of losing his lunch all over the gym floor. “Ew,” he says, to the floor. Someone raises his head up enough to slip something soft and padded under it. It smells like detergent and fresh cotton, and he burrows into it. “S’ry ‘bout th’ floor,” he says, voice muffled by the fabric.
“Don’t worry about that, Sugawara-kun, it’s all right,” Takeda says, appearing suddenly. His phone is pressed to his ear. “The ambulance will be here soon. Can you stay awake for me until they arrive?”
Suga considers. The stabbing pain hasn’t faded, the lights are still too bright, and at this point unconsciousness would honestly be preferable. It’s difficult to get his tongue to cooperate in expressing that sentiment, though, so he just goes, “Ngh,” and hopes Takeda will understand. He seems to, because his face twists up in a sympathetic grimace.
“I know it’s difficult, and I’m sorry, but please try.”
“H’rts,” Suga says obstinately. When hands prod insistently at his shoulder, he repeats plaintively, “Hurts.” And despite the voices calling his name, he stubbornly closes his good eye and lets himself pass out.
*
He wakes up feeling very floaty. Nothing hurts anymore, which is nice, and he still can’t see out of his left eye, which isn’t so nice, but honestly, the world is fuzzy and it’s hard to care all that much. A speck of dust drifts overhead, glowing gold in the sunlight streaming through the window. Suga moves his head to follow it, oddly fascinated, and finds his dad sitting in a chair next to him.
“Daddy-o!” Suga says happily, beaming, and his dad looks like it’s taking him every ounce of willpower he has not to laugh.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
“Cottotony. Cottonony. Connoty. Um. Fuzzy.”
“I’m not surprised. They’ve got you on the strong stuff. From what Takeda-san tells me, you got beaned pretty good.”
“Beans give you gas.”
“They sure do,” his dad replies, but he’s still laughing, which seems unfair. Suga’s dramatically wounded, here. He feels like there should be more tears and anguished expressions of adoration. Except he doesn’t really want his dad to cry, that would suck, but a little sympathy wouldn’t go amiss either. Especially when he’s apparently half blind. Still, it would be an excuse to wear an eyepatch. And a parrot. He could teach it to make fun of Asahi.
“’M a pirate.”
“What’s that, sweetheart?”
Suga flaps his left hand around near his face. “Eyepatch.” His dad’s face falls slightly at that, and sudden panic has Suga wrestling away the blankets to sit up. “Am I blind?”
“No, sweetheart, God no,” his dad says hurriedly, crossing to the bed to wrap his arms around him. Suga leans into the touch, because his dad is warm and smells like home. “You had some bleeding in your iris and you’ve got one hell of a shiner, but no. You’ll be fine. You’ll be just fine.”
“How bad?” Suga asks. His dad leans away slightly to look down at him in concern.
“Like I said, it’s only…”
“Nnnnnooooooo.” Suga flails around before finally managing to put his finger over his dad’s lips. Or, at least, somewhere in that general area. Maybe. “Tanaka. ‘S he dead? Daichi murderified him. Gotta write a speech. For the funeral.”
His dad chuffs a laugh. “No, he’s not dead, although I’d say he came close more than once. Ukai-san certainly had some choice words for him. I think everyone in a five-mile radius has tinnitus now.”
Poor Tanaka, Suga thinks, although it’s kind of sweet Coach would get that worked up on his behalf. “’n’ Daichi?”
“I don’t think Dai-chan has really had the chance,” his dad says, and his voice is oddly warm and fond.
“Buh?” Suga says. His dad nods towards the corner of the room past the window, and, oh, there he is, fast asleep with his head lolling against the wall. Drooling. It’s gross. Suga’s totally not tearing up.
“He’s been here this whole time,” his dad explains softly.
“Not… captaining?”
“I think you’re more important.”
“Oh,” Suga sighs. He nuzzles against his dad. “’m gonna sleep again now.” He knows they’ll be right here when he wakes up.
*
The second time Suga wakes up, the world is sharper and he can actually think straight, his dad is gone but his jacket is puddled on the seat of his chair, and Daichi is still sleeping. There’s a discarded straw wrapper on the nightstand. Suga crumples it up and lobs it at him. “Bguah,” Daichi says when he jerks awake. That’s what it sounds like, at least. Then he looks over and sees Suga and beams. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Suga replies. “As touched as I am by your unwavering bedside vigil, maybe you should go home. I’m fine.”
Daichi blinks muzzily at him. His hair is sticking out from his head in tufts. It’s not adorable. It’s not. “It’s only 11,” he says, after a moment, and oh, right, morning practice.
“Holy shit, go to school,” Suga tells him. “What kind of example are you setting for our naïve and impressionable first years?”
Daichi raises his eyebrows. “It’s Saturday.”
“Oh.” He’d forgotten that part. A strange image comes to him suddenly, half-formed and fleeting, of Ukai shoving the Mona Lisa into the pocket of his sweatpants; he blinks it away. “Is everyone here?”
“Yep. Nishinoya insisted he wasn’t leaving until he could see you, and then when he saw you he said it didn’t count because you were sleeping. And Hinata was all starry-eyed at Nishinoya’s noble self-sacrifice, and then Kageyama got involved and it turned into a competition.”
“Of course it did.” Suga squints at Daichi. “You’re not captaining, though.”
An evil smirk spreads across Daichi’s face. “I gave Asahi permission to enact captainly duties in my absence. In fact, I insisted upon it.”
“That’s mean,” Suga says, even though he’s laughing. “You shouldn’t tease him so much.” There’s a soft knock on the door, and Asahi comes in. “Speak of the devil. Taking advantage of my infirmity to usurp my position as vice captain, are we?”
“You’re awake,” Asahi says happily, and dimples. Honestly. “And no thanks, once was enough for me.” He drops into the empty chair, after carefully arranging Suga’s dad’s jacket over the backrest so it doesn’t get crumpled.
“Did anyone film it?” Suga has to know. He can’t help but picture a large timid dog gently trying to reprimand a dejected dragon. Asahi would totally be a St. Bernard.
“I didn’t yell at him. Coach took care of that. He was already really upset, and then Coach tore him a new one and he started crying so I got him some tea from the vending machine and sat with him until Saeko-san showed up to take him home.”
“You’re so bad at this,” Daichi tells him bluntly. Asahi grins and ducks his head.
“Yeah, I know.” He looks at Suga, growing serious. “Tanaka told me to tell you he’s sorry. And that he understands if you don’t want to see him.”
“Oh my god, it’s a black eye, I’m not dying,” Suga blurts, exasperated. “Next time you see him, tell him he’s being stupid. Actually, no, tell him to get his ass in here. If he wants to grovel he can do it in person. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Asahi laughs. “I told him you might say that.”
Daichi sighs. “I’m sure he’ll come crawling back. He does seem to have a knack for hitting us in the face, though. Maybe you should start wearing a crash helmet to matches, just in case,” he adds to Asahi.
Asahi hesitates, then says cautiously, “He… might also have said something about quitting the team.”
Suga stares at him for a full minute. Then he looks at Daichi, who throws up his hands. “I’ll go.”
“If you hurry you can probably still catch them.”
When Daichi’s gone, Suga turns to Asahi. “Since I’m currently walking wounded—”
“You’re not even walking.”
“—I am asking you to punish Tanaka on my behalf.”
Asahi’s eyebrows skitter upwards. “P-punish?” he says anxiously. “Suga… it was an accident. I mean, he’s really sorry… It doesn’t seem fair…”
“Here’s what I have in mind,” Suga says, then tells him. Asahi grins, looking relieved.
“Oh,” he says. “Yeah, I can do that.”
*
They sit on the bed together and watch funny cat videos on Asahi’s phone until Daichi comes back, dragging Tanaka by the front of his t-shirt. “Are you done flagellating yourself?” Suga asks dispassionately. Tanaka turns so red it’s amazing there isn’t smoke shooting out of his ears. It’s a little mean, especially since Tanaka really does look like crap, but seriously, Suga puked in front of the whole team, he’s allowed to exact a little revenge.
“What?! No, I-I don’t, Suga-san, what, I—”
“That word,” Daichi deadpans across him. “I don’t think it means what you think it means.”
“Since, for obvious reasons, I can’t take care of it myself—” Suga gestures down the length of his hospital bedsheet-covered body, “Asahi will be doling out your punishment. I hope you’re ready.”
Tanaka gulps nervously, but sets his shoulders, sets his jaw and says determinedly, “Yes. I’ll take whatever punishment you want to give me, Suga-san.” He bows to forty-five degrees, then straightens, waiting.
“Well then, Asahi, if you would.”
“Yeah,” Asahi says. He gets off the bed and cracks his knuckles, which is the funniest thing Suga’s ever seen, Asahi, Asahi, trying to act tough, but he manages to hold in his manic cackling for the time being. Asahi takes a deep breath, steps over to Tanaka, raises a hand. Tanaka squeezes his eyes closed in anticipation of the blow, and Asahi bops him on the head.
After a few seconds, Tanaka warily opens one eye, then the other. “Uh. What.”
“Thanks, guys,” Suga says cheerfully. “I’ll take it from here.” Daichi and Asahi exchange a glance, then leave the room. Tanaka jumps slightly when the door clicks shut. Suga wonders if they’re listening through the keyhole.
Suga sighs. “Come here, you dummy,” he says, and holds out an arm. Tanaka hovers for a split-second, torn, and then his face crumples and he rushes over to jam his head into Suga’s ribcage. Suga runs his fingers gently across Tanaka’s bristlebrush scalp as he cries, humming a song his mom used to sing.
“I’m sorry,” Tanaka says thickly.
“I forgive you,” Suga replies. There’s nothing to forgive, but he knows Tanaka needs to hear it all the same.
Tanaka pulls back after a while, propping his elbows on the mattress. His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, but he no longer looks like he’s on the verge of finding a convenient cliff from which to throw himself. “You should be mad at me,” he says mournfully.
“You’re really a glutton for punishment, aren’t you,” Suga sighs. “Fine.” His hand shoots out, float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, and he pokes Tanaka in the stomach. Tanaka squawks and folds over. “I’m not mad,” Suga says. “Are you going to do it again?”
“No.”
“Well then.”
Tanaka stiffens, opens his mouth like he wants to argue, stops to consider for a moment, then closes his mouth again. “Okay,” he says eventually.
Suga smiles at him, pouring all the warmth and affection he can muster into it. “Good. Now.” He looks Tanaka right in the eyes, face turning serious. Tanaka sits up expectantly. “We need to have a discussion about proper ball handling procedures.”
“Oh my God,” Daichi shouts through the door. Suga starts laughing, and then he can’t stop. Tanaka joins in, and they lean on each other and laugh until they’re crying.
Yeah, Suga thinks, resting his cheek on the top of Tanaka’s head. It’s all good.