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Chocolate and Oreos

Summary:

Sugawara Koushi feels dull. Trapped. He feels like he's tiptoe-ing in circles, stepping in his own footprints day after day after day after day.

Who knew one little misstep could fuck up his life this much.

Notes:

I don't remember if I posted this first chapter or not on a different account... but I can't find it if I did. This is embarassing if I did though.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Dull.

 

Koushi Sawamura feels so dull.

 

He barely registers that his wet fingers slide suds over the cold ceramic under the dirty, stale dishwater. He doesn’t notice the fragments of soggy, dirty food that swirl around the grayish water as he moves his hands, as the rag between his fingers creates ripples in the liquid. He swirls the soaked cloth around a few times, watching the spirals and mini tornados it creates without admiring the pretty movements, with tired eyes and heavy arms, before he lifts the final dish- a mug that reads hubby- out of the sink and sets it down to dry.

 

He’s so bored. 

 

He doesn’t think twice before plunging his hand back into the filthy, lukewarm water to pull the plug. He doesn’t think twice of the way it crawls up his arm, or makes coldness cling to his skin when it comes back to air. He just flicks the droplets on his fingertips back into the draining, gurgling sink, and sighs.

 

What now?

 

It’s only noon, and he’s completed every household chore there is. Laundry, organizing, dusting, sweeping, dishes, cleaning the windows, vacuuming. Getting everything as perfect as it can be, for the perfect man who will come home at 5:15, who’s a part of the perfect relationship.

 

Perfect had seemed so appealing, six years ago. Now, it continues to drone on and on, dulling every exciting edge the life of a young adult is supposed to hold.

 

There’s no jagged edges or fruitless disputes or cliffs to dance along the edge of. There’s only attending to the perfect home while he waits for his perfect husband, before they talk about their perfect days and have perfect sex. 

 

Dull.

 

Didn’t these cupboards used to be a bright junglewood brown? Koushi asks himself, leaning his aching back to the faux marble counters as he looks around his colorless home. Now they’re just… brown. Brown, the same as the floor in the living room and the vanity in our bedroom and the table in our dining room. 

 

Same as shit.

 

He lets out a little snort at his own little joke. In the emptiness of the good-sized house Daichi’s father helped pay for, he needs to entertain himself. His husband is allergic to most pets, and doesn’t like hairless reptiles. Or arachnids, or amphibians, or even fish. 

 

Dull. Lifeless.

 

Koushi wonders, as he often does, how they ever imagined each other as the perfect match. Why they let themselves get caught up in the romance of first love lasting, and created their own whirlwind that carried them away. 

 

He reminds himself that things could be worse. Much worse. He is cared for and loved, lives safely in the middle class, with every basic human need fulfilled- and then some. He should be happy, he should be happy, he should be happy.

 

Don’t get him wrong, he is grateful. But he just can’t bring himself to be content. His foot taps against the tiled floor of the modern kitchen, and his fingernails grip at the sleeves of his crewneck. The only reprieve he gets from such overwhelming monotony is at the diner a few blocks away; it’s the traditional sort, with a neon sign and oddly colored high-rise tables. 

 

He always sits in the corner, in a booth by the bathrooms and leaning against a large window. The OPEN sign always illuminates the frosty glass of the milkshake he always buys: cookies and cream with chocolate, extra whipped cream and extra chocolate topping. 

 

But even his sketching in the dim light of a neon sign, flickering lights, and bright streetlights is starting to feel dull. His escape is starting to feel like its own little prison, in the same way his domestic life does; it feels the same, repetitive, repeating every day at the same time, with the same rhythm. He sits in the same spot, in the same diner, orders the same drink and draws with the same charcoal pencil. He greets the same people and glances out of the same windows, thinking the same thoughts revolving around what time Daichi might want him to go home that night. Usually, it’s around seven or eight; he gets an hour or two. 

 

He shakes his head, and brings himself back to the present. There’s no use thinking about such fruitless things. Koushi always finds himself ensnared in the safety of monotony, from when he was a child who would only accept two different foods until he was in high school, when he would never venture out past curfew and study ritually every night before lights out at nine thirty. And now, even when he’s an adult, he follows the same trails day after day after day. 

 

It’s so dull.

 

I’m so dull.

 

And annoyed.

 

And now, it’s probably too late to break the cycle. Because if he did, it would hurt someone whom he cares about: Daichi, his husband. Koushi realized too late that they were far better as best friends than eternal lovers, but they got married young- and Daichi never quite came to the same conclusion that Koushi did.

 

So, is this it? Is Koushi just supposed to… accept life how it is?

 

It sure seems like it. 

 

Not to mention that’s precisely what he’s done in the past. What says it’s going to change now? Especially now that if he tries to break free from the vice-like grip his patterns have on him, it would hurt someone who he’s sure could be his best friend, if it weren’t for the romance and the sex that, if Koushi is hoenst, has started not only boring but as well as repulsing him.

 

He just can’t see Daichi in that way.

 

Whoever said you should marry your best friend should go fuck themselves, Koushi grumbles in his head. Or maybe he said it out loud, he doesn’t know. 

 

His phone vibrates in his pocket, a little interruption in his also dull, monotonous, and daily repeated inner monologue. 

 

[Yuu] Sugaaa! Daichi gets off work at 5, right??? Me and hinata are gonna try and cook tonight, come over at six!

 

Koushi quickly texted back an affirmative response, his fingers almost pathetically swift as they scurried over the screen. He didn’t have a large amount of friends- and all the ones he had, he shared with Daichi- so he didn’t get out often. Even if going to his friends’ home with Daichi wasn’t much of an escape, it was still something.

 

Not to mention, Nishinoya and Hinata should not be allowed in any kitchen. 

 

The remembrance should scare Koushi, make him more hesitant to visit and eat there, but instead… strangely, it seems to fuel his excitement. Will there be another small fire? Will the younger couple once again create a consistency that the silvernette doesn’t yet know exists? Will he contract food poisoning again?

 

All the little dangers buzz over his skin, warming it. He’s excited. 

 

[Me] Nishinoya and Hinata invited us over for dinner at six, so don’t dawdle after work!

 

[Dai] oh god

 

Such a response used to make Koushi giggle. He probably still would, if weren’t for the expectations weighing on his shoulders: he should giggle with a fond shake of his head, or a pinkish hue on his cheeks, he should be silently longing for Daichi to come home sooner, he should be thinking about this dinner as a double date.

 

But he’s just not.

 

--

 

“Suga!” Shouyou cries out exuberantly, not physically bouncing up and down, but the jubilant tone in his voice suggests that he absolutely could. Koushi doesn’t go by Sugawara anymore; he hasn’t gone by his family’s name in almost five years now. However, that doesn’t stop his former kouhai from calling him by the name they’ve always known him by, and Koushi can’t deny the upward quirk of his lips at the sound of it. Suga feels like… him. Sawamura… doesn’t. “It’s been forever- after dinner, we have to pass the ball back and forth outside!”

 

Koushi chuckles, squeezing the arm he’s hugging and leaning closer into the warm side he’s pressed against. He may not be in love with Daichi, he may not feel butterflies, but he’s a physically affectionate person at heart. He’s been lonely, sitting at home by himself all day. He missed the warmth of another person. 

 

“Of course,” he responds easily, stepping into the house with his fondly chuckling husband. “It's been a while since I’ve last played, I may be a little rusty,” he admits, stifling the urge to pull his hand from his husband’s as Daichi joins their fingers. He wanted a hug, simply to feel the warmth of another person. Holding hands is… intimate, in a way. Romantic, at least in the way that Daichi does it.

 

God, Koushi is the worst. He knows it. He squeezes his husband's hand, and it eases a little bit of his own guilt to see how the other man smiles at the subtle, secret affection.

 

“That’s fine!” The redhead argues eagerly, his beam blinding and infectious. It spreads until even the gray-haired’s lips tug upwards, despite his recent vague but persistent turmoil and despite even the thick, guilty lump building in his throat. (He thinks that maybe the guilt sources from the way he feels his own fingers grow cool even despite the warmth of the hand holding them).

 

“BABE!” Another familiar voice calls, mischievous in nature and alarmed in tone. It’s Nishinoya, shouting from the kitchen, just before a light plume of suffocating smoke trails after his voice.

 

Koushi can’t stifle the laughter that bubbles from his stomach.

 

--

 

Expectedly, dinner was a disaster. The younger couple argued passionately throughout the entire event, accusing the other of skipping steps during preparation or buying a different brand of ingredients than usual. The food was weirdly textured and either burnt or horrifyingly raw, completely inedible. Nishinoya and Hinata, however, ate their horrendous concoctions, staring each other dead in the eye. They both promptly threw up, claiming to have eaten more than the other in between gags.

 

It was all so fun. Interesting, entertaining, it felt so spontaneous. Such a difference from the mundane dinners that are his usual at home. Daichi was clearly taken aback, despite the fact that there was no other possible outcome at a dinner with the most rambunctious couple in Japan- maybe even the world. Koushi got a few weird looks from his husband, probably as a result of his weird and clear delight at the exciting events, but he didn’t care. He just continued to smile and chuckle and giggle and grab his suffering, slightly stupid friends water and crackers to help ease their suffering stomachs.

 

Now, Daichi is talking to Nishinoya in the (messy, disorganized) living room about something, while Shouyou is dragging Koushi to their quite spacious backyard to toss a volleyball back and forth.

 

The silvernette giggles and waves to his dear husband as he’s dragged past him to the backyard, appreciating the shorter couple’s decorating style of dirty laundry, sport equipment, and random, comfortable furniture that doesn’t match. It’s a stark contrast to the meticulous, perfectly complimenting and clean look to Koushi’s own; Shouyou and Nishinoya’s actually has personality. 

 

“Be safe!” Daichi calls after them.

 

“Have fun!” Nishinoya winks.

 

As if Koushi has a choice.

 

--

 

Bump! Set… spike!

 

“Nice receive Suga-san!’

 

Set, spike! 

 

Bump, too low, another bump, set… spike.

 

“Nice hit!”

 

Falling back into a rhythm of old, Koushi smiles. Usually, he finds himself despising repetition- despite the fact that his life is practically a manifestation of the word- but there’s something freeing about the rhythm of the sport he so loves.

 

It only takes a few minutes for the stiffness making Suga’s shoulder’s tense begin to melt away, and his dimples make their first reappearance in almost three months. He is still a bit rusty, and his form is a bit unpracticed and sloppy, but he’s having fun. 

 

Bump, set, spike!

 

Bump!

 

“Just as reliable as always, Suga-san,” Shouyou praises the other’s perfect set with the same compliment that Koushi has been given since middle school; it’s akin to the others: Oh, you’re so trustworthy! You’re always there for me! So easy to talk to! Dependable! So helpful, everyone can count on you, Suga-san! We’re counting on you! We’re taking advantage of-

 

Spike!

 

“Shit!” Shouyou exclaims, diving expertly to receive with a grin on his face. Shouyou, who so openly enjoys the unexpected and the dangerous. Shouyou, who Koushi is so secretly envious of. “What’s wrong?!”

 

Koushi freezes, although only slightly.

 

Bump, set, spike. Bump, bump, bump, bump.

 

“What do you mean?” he asks, mostly curiously. Because nothing is wrong, so to say. Everything is perfect. So, so fucking perfect. 

 

Bump. Set. Set. Set. Set.

 

“That was the spike of someone with a challenge,” Shouyou explains, and Koushi laughs fondly.

 

Spike, much less aggressive. Receive. Set.

 

“I suppose I’ve been feeling frustratingly complaiasant,” Koushi admits, and he doesn’t quite know why. Maybe there’s something in the almost-here stars that convinced him, maybe the steady rhythm of the rough ball against his already-bruising hands is lulling him into sharing. Maybe he’s just internally desperate to voice his feelings, to acknowledge them.

 

Spike, bump, set.

 

Shouyou gives him a blank stare. “Come- play- saint- sant?” 

 

“Bored,” Koushi supplies with a chuckle, bending his knees and bumping the ball- it was a bit too low for him to spike. “Stuck.”

 

Realization floods the redhead’s bright orange eyes. “Ohhhh. Well, maybe you should switch up your schedule! Even just something super tiny or irrelevant. That’s what Yu does when he gets bored- ah, when his work allows him to.”

 

Maybe Koushi should.

 

--

 

“Well,” Daichi supplies on the drive home. “That was certainly… something.”

Koushi releases an empty chuckle, not that his adorably dense husband will notice the lack of genuinity behind it. “It was.”

 

Despite the fact that the gray-haired man has so much freetime- he’s a stay at home husband, no job and no degree to help him get one- he can’t think of anything to change. Maybe he could swap the times allotted for cleaning the bedroom and doing laundry? Start cooking meals when he’s hungry and not at their allotted time slots? 

 

A heavy hand appears on the silvernette’s thigh, fingers gripping the flesh over the perfectly crisp  jeans. In the past, such an action would make Koushi’s breath catch in his throat. Now, he just keeps on thinking, as Daichi’s hand was never there- or always was.

 

Ah. There’s one thing- the diner. Koushi goes on Tuesdays or Wednesdays, at around six and leaves around seven or eight. Koushi could… Koushi could go for lunch. He could get a true meal, instead of just a shake- he could try a different shake.

“It looked like you and Shouyou were having fun. You were doing well for someone who hasn’t even thought about volleyball in so long,” Daichi complimented kindly. (He was wrong, of course. Koushi thinks of volleyball often. He misses it, now more so than ever). 

 

Lunchtimes are when he gets the most done, though. Once he’s fully woken up, he feels a sudden need to achieve a majority of a day's work: he starts laundry, he checks the house for items he needs to add to the shopping list, he cleans, he organizes, he plans meals, he cooks. 

 

It would throw everything off if he were to leave the house for something unproductive.

 

He giggles, the sound true. Daichi joins him with a low chuckle, clearly under the assumption that Koushi was amused by what he said.

 

“It’s true,” the brunette continued. “I was impressed.”

“Thank you,” Koushi thanks politely as they pull into their driveway that is so neatly lined with perfect little shrubs. The pavement is still smooth under the tires, fresh-looking even though light is almost completely faded. 

 

The air is a little damp, a little chilly; something about it is exciting, but of course, the couple doesn’t linger outside. They go into their nice, perfect house, so that Daichi can be the nice, perfect husband and initiate nice, perfect sex.

 

Koushi obliges, of course, eventually. He always does- he has no true reason not to, anyway. The sex they have together isn’t bad- although, Koushi thinks sometimes that maybe he wouldn’t know if it was, because Daichi was his first and his only- it’s just…

 

He doesn’t know. But something in him has him stalling, sometimes. Asking about Daichi’s day, offering to complete a few missed chores, asking if his husband wants to watch a movie or if he should make dessert.

 

“What were you and Noya chattin’ about?” Is Koushi’s stalling question of choice today, as he’s back against a wall almost immediately after taking off his shoes. Expected, expected, expected. Why couldn’t Daichi be the one to opediently tilt his head and let lips latch onto his neck?

 

“Mm, he’s thinking about proposing,” Daichi murmurs in a husky voice that used to send shivers down Koushi’s spine. Right now, all that’s going through Koushi’s head is no! Not quite at the advances of his husband, but at the idea of marriage draining his friends’ relationship of every last ounce of excitement. 

 

Ugh. He’s really not in the mood. He wants to be planning his spontaneous lunch at the diner on Wednesday- but could it really be considered spontaneous and exciting if he planned it out?

 

Teeth dig into his skin, at a spot where he was probably sensitive at one point. He forces himself to make a cute little gasp, because guilt is already twisting into a tornado in his gut, and he’s selfish and he doesn’t want it to get worse. He feels a smile against the cold skin of his neck, and he gives himself a metaphorical star. One point. It eases some guilt, but no apprehension.

 

Ah. He doesn’t want to do this. He parts his lips perfectly on cue, welcoming his husband's too-gentle tongue. He doesn’t particularly not want to, either, but… but what? He has no excuse to say no. He has no reason to not want this.

 

He arches his back just how Daichi likes, gasps his moans in the pathetically desperate way he knows is so appealing. He lets himself be carried to the bedroom, because Daichi likes being notably stronger, in charge, top. Daichi also likes doing it in the bedroom, unless he’s had a few drinks- which he so rarely does.

 

It’s fine. Not good, not bad, and Koushi knows he doesn’t really have anything to complain about.

Notes:

Next up, Tooru loves contradictions.