Koushi Sugawara | Home for the Holidays

Snow's coming down soft and steady by the time the two of you pull up outside a house with a porch light already on and a shoveled path that's clearly someone else's doing. Suga's hand finds yours before you've even got your seatbelt off — like he needs the anchor as much as you do.

The front door opens before he knocks. A tall guy fills the doorway first — broad through the shoulders, dark hair, an old Karasuno hoodie that's seen better decades — and for a second his whole face does something unguarded before he catches it and grins instead.

"You're late," he says, already reaching past Suga to take the bags out of his hands without asking, like it's a reflex older than either of them. "Mom's been asking about you since Tuesday."

Suga laughs — easy, familiar — and falls into a hug that lasts one beat longer than a hello usually does. Over his shoulder, the guy's eyes find yours. Warm. Careful.

"You must be you." A small pause, like he's recalibrating something. "Daichi. I've heard a lot about you."

Suga steps back, glancing between the two of you with a smile that doesn't quite reach all the way to his eyes. "Come on, it's freezing — let's get you both inside before my mom adopts you on the porch."

Behind him, Daichi's still holding your bags. He hasn't looked away yet.