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Kageyama’s face brightens as Sugawara steps forward in line for the pro player’s autograph. “Suga-san! You came!”
“We couldn’t miss this match for anything,” Suga huffs a laugh, handing over the autograph book with a beam of pride. His kouhai sure had come a long way from the lonely king of the court he was when they’d first met. He watches as Kageyama scrawls the familiar signature he’d helped devise and a new wave of nostalgia washes over him. “You still use the signature I made?”
“Of course,” Kageyama says with a quirk to his lips. “You taught me everything I know, right?”
“Cheeky bastard,” Suga chuckles.
“You could probably have just written this yourself and no one would know the difference,” he muses.
Suga laughs in earnest at that. He’d be lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind while he was suffering through grad school and living off instant ramen and cafeteria coffee. “Oh you’ve made it your own now, I doubt I could fake it.”
Kageyama hands the book back, a sly grin on his face that says he knows exactly how false that statement is. “Well, I’m glad you came to see me personally. It means a lot to have you here.”
Suga’s face goes warm under the praise. “The others are here too, you know.”
“Yeah but they weren’t setters.” His eyes sharpen, and Suga nods understanding. They exchange a few more pleasant words, promises to catch up soon and get the team together when they’re all in town again.
Before they part, he raises an eyebrow at the faded denim jacket, oversized on Suga’s slender shoulders. “I’m surprised you still have that.”
It’s Suga’s turn to slip into a mischievous grin. “Of course. It’s my Lucky Jacket after all. I needed it to be sure I got your autograph today.” He exaggerates the statement with a wink.
“Right, the infamous Lucky Jacket.” Kageyama bites back a chuckle. “So, you and Iwaizumi-san are still friends?”
Damn perceptive bastard. Suga had trained him too well. He glances around to be sure none of their former teammates are close enough to have overheard him, lifting a shoulder in response. “Something like that,” he teases. “Good luck Tobio! It was great seeing you!”
Kageyama’s amused farewell follows after him as he slips back into the crowd to find Daichi and Asahi again. Suga shakes his head as he weaves around the milling spectators. Kageyama remembered the damn jacket?
The thing is, he’d never told anyone where it came from. It was this great mystery, a grand game, a story that changed every time he told it. It was his father’s. He found it at a thrift shop. A wizard gave it to him. Each story less plausible than the last but no less entertaining.
The true story, well they say truth is stranger than fiction, and the night of their victory over Shiratorizawa still sometimes feels like a fever dream to him. A simple gesture that had turned into years of friendship. And something more.
That night, he’d been too restless to sleep. Daichi was no help, already unconscious from the day’s events, and thus unavailable to listen to him chatter about everything and nothing until he exhausted himself enough to sleep. With no best friend to occupy him, he decided to go for a walk to the 24 hour conbini in town. It wasn’t Sakanoshita, and Coach would probably have scolded him to find him out so late, but it was somewhere to go. A destination with a purpose.
He wasn’t the only one looking for an outlet that night, and he thought maybe he had been dreaming when he bumped into a spiky-haired wall of a boy. Cursing his lesser height, he smiled up at the confused face peering down at him. “Sorry, wasn’t looking where I was-oh.”
Dark eyes blinked as recognition lit on his rival vice captain’s lips. “Refreshing-kun!” He clamped his mouth shut as soon as the nickname spilled off his tongue, cheeks tinged a dusty rose.
Suga scrunched his nose at that. “Refreshing?”
The other boy rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, Oikawa has an annoying habit of giving out weird nicknames to people. That’s what he calls you and it just…”
Suga grinned. “Just slipped out?”
“Yeah,” he grunted, avoiding eye contact.
Suga stifled a giggle. “Well, no harm no foul. Sorry again, for bumping into you.”
“Ah, it’s no big deal.” His eyes trailed to the case of meat buns and his mouth parted as a thought occurred to him. “Can I treat you to one?” he pointed to the case. “Apology and congratulations in one?”
“Oh,” Suga said lamely. “That’s not…” necessary, he wanted to say, but the ace’s eyes were earnest, and Suga had never been able to say no to such a face. “Well, ok if you insist.”
They collected their meat buns, and a package of milkbread, and checked out. They settled on the curb as they devoured the tasty pastries, content in the silence as the scant stars shone above. It should have been weird, Suga thought idly, but it wasn’t. It was comfortable.
“You guys played really well today,” his companion said after a while. “I’m still pissed it wasn’t us, but at least someone finally took Ushijima down a peg.”
“I didn’t know you watched the final,” Suga mused, licking the last of the juice from his fingers. “Dunno if I could have.”
The taller boy shrugged. “Oikawa is a dumbass. He went to watch and I found him there, but he wanted you both to lose.”
Suga snorted at that. “Well, one of us had to win.”
“Duh. And I guess I’m glad it was you guys.” His smile was genuine, and Suga regretted eating so late when his stomach made a funny little swoop.
He extended his hand. “Sugawara Koushi,” he said, a peace offering. “My friends call me Suga.”
Seijoh’s ace eyed it with a raised eyebrow, but shook it all the same. “Iwaizumi Hajime.”
Right. He knew that.
A light breeze rustled the leaves in the trees in the park across the street and it occurred to him he was not really dressed warmly enough. He’d been so amped up when he left he’d forgotten his Karasuno VBC jacket at home. His long-sleeved shirt covered his arms, but it was thin. He couldn’t suppress a shiver.
Iwaizumi didn’t miss it. His ensuing frown was etched with exasperated concern. “Are you a dumbass too, or is it a setter thing?” he grumbled.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind.” He shrugged off his outermost layer, a denim jacket that hugged his broad shoulders and hung just above his hips. “Here,” he said, shoving it at Suga. “Be stupid of you to get a cold before Nationals.”
Suga’s fingers curled around the edges of the jacket involuntarily, and he blinked in further confusion. “But they’re still two months away?”
Even in the moonlit dark, the reddening of Iwaizumi’s cheeks was evident and he looked away with a fierce scowl. “Get sick, then.”
Suga did his best to smother the giggle that bubbled up in his chest. “I won’t,” he replied, feeling petulance slip into his own voice and not feeling ashamed at all. He draped the jacket over his shoulders like a cape and beamed at the other boy. “You always this nice to your rivals or is it a wing spiker thing to take care of setters?”
“Ugh, you are a pain in the ass, too.”
Suga hummed, kicking his feet out in front of him and crossing his ankles as they settled back into comfortable silence. The late October sky glittered with the last of the summer stars, the winter constellations would be rising soon. His energy had dropped significantly with the warmth of a heavy snack in his belly and he felt like he’d be able to get to sleep easily now. He inhaled deeply of the cool air and his nose was tickled by the scent of unfamiliar detergent and spice.
Before he could register the sudden warmth spreading on his cheeks, Iwaizumi got to his feet, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. “I gotta get back before Shittykawa throws a fit. He’s worse than my mother sometimes.”
“He’s a setter,” Suga teased, rising to his own feet. “He cares about his ace.”
Iwaizumi grimaced. “Sounds creepy when you say it like that.” Suga chuckled as he reached up to take the jacket off. Iwaizumi halted him with a shake of his head. “Keep it. You’ve got a longer walk back than I do.” Suga found himself frozen and blinking like a deer caught in headlights for the second time that night. Before he could stammer a response, convince Iwaizumi he was fine and would be plenty warm once he got moving, the other boy was already walking away, waving a hand behind him. “Night, Suga!”
He pulled the edges tighter to himself, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach as he whispered a soft “Good night,” into the wind.
He meant to give it back, he really did.
A couple days later he found himself in front of the gates of Aoba Johsai, trying and failing to keep his rapid heartbeat under control. What was he so damn nervous for? He was just returning a borrowed jacket. One he’d grown too comfortable in in the few short days he’d had it in his possession. The oversized jacket enveloped him almost like a blanket, the heady scent of boy seeped into the fabric tugging at his sensibilities. It had only been a few months since he’d come to terms with his own sexuality, a realization both terrifying and freeing, but surely he wasn’t crushing on a rival just because he’d loaned Suga his jacket? In all honesty, he had to return it before he lost the last threads of his sanity.
A loud squealing from just inside the gates drew his attention back to his purpose in being there. Oikawa towered over a small herd of fangirls, smiling and teasing as he basked in their praises. Suga glanced around for signs of his loyal shadow, hoping against hope he could make the exchange while Oikawa was distracted, but there was no sign of Iwaizumi anywhere.
“Refreshing-kun?” Suga froze. So he had been spotted after all. Oikawa excused himself from his fans and strode purposefully over to the entrance. He stopped just a few feet away, one hand on his hip as his eyes roved over Suga.
Suga put on his most charming smile. There were a few more titters from behind Oikawa, and Suga waggled his fingers as the girls ducked back into the building. “Oikawa,” he greeted as pleasantly as he could muster. “How are you?”
“What are you doing here?” Oikawa didn’t seem upset to find a rival player on his turf, but he was understandably confused.
Suga turned that smile up towards the taller setter. Why is he so damn tall? “Actually, I was looking for Iwaizumi.”
An eyebrow arched. “I didn’t know you two were so cordial.” He hadn’t balked at the lack of honorific for himself, but he clearly took interest in the lack of one for his best friend. Suga shifted his grip on his messenger bag, the hidden bundled jacket feeling heavier under that inquisitive gaze. “Iwa-chan is staying late for cram classes with Mattsun and Makki.”
“None for you?” He could feel his own lips pulling up at the corners teasingly.
Oikawa’s face was impassive as he considered Suga’s taunt. He stared for just a beat more than could be considered comfortable before shrugging. “I won’t need them where I’m going.” He folded his arms across his chest and bent towards Suga. “What do you need Iwa-chan for?”
Suga willed the heat to stay off his cheeks. He tapped an impatient finger on the strap of his bag, unsure of what sort of game they were playing. He had no illusions that Oikawa wasn’t toying with him in some way, and he wanted to leave with his dignity intact. “I have something of his,” he said, pleased with the steadiness of his own voice. “I just wanted to return it to him.”
“I can return it to him.” Oikawa extended a hand for the unnamed object.
Suga contemplated it for half a second, but Oikawa’s smile was sharp, foxlike, false. He didn’t trust it at all. “That’s ok,” he said, his own smile stretching his cheeks in facsimile. “I’ll just catch him another time!”
“Oho,” Oikawa chuckled, straightening and leering down at him. “You are perceptive, Suga-chan.”
“Of course. I’m a setter, too.”
Oikawa looked like he had more he wanted to say, but as luck would have it, another gaggle of shrieking fangirls swarmed him and his response drowned in their wails. Suga took the distraction and slipped away with barely a glance back. He would just have to find another way to get the jacket back to its proper owner.
He considered another late night trip to the conbini, on the off chance they’d bump into each other again, but his mother had not been pleased with his last excursion. He wasn’t grounded, per se, but it was strongly encouraged that he be home at curfew and asleep by midnight. It was too soon to test those waters. And besides, it was a warm jacket.
Daichi was the first to question him about it of course. Suga didn’t mean to lie to his best friend, claiming it was his dad’s old jacket, but he didn’t know how to tell Daichi who it really belonged to. His captain would never judge him for it—he was the first person he confided in when he began questioning his feelings about boys—but it still felt taboo. The score with Aoba Johsai wasn’t really settled. What if they saw him as fraternizing with the enemy?
Luckily, Daichi bought the lie. It helped that the denim was too big on him, probably. Asahi took everything he said at face value, bless him, and didn’t press either. In fact, the only person who seemed to doubt him, was Kageyama. He didn’t say it in so many words, but the furrow between his brows was enough for Suga to know he’d been caught. It also gave him an idea of how to get the damn thing back to its rightful owner.
He pulled the first year aside after practice under the guise of wanting to discuss new signals with him. When they were out of earshot of the rest of the team, he put his plan into action. “Say, Kageyama, you wouldn’t happen to know how to get in touch with Iwaizumi, would you?”
The younger setter’s lips pinched in a pout. “What does that have to do with new signals?”
“We’ll get to those in a minute. I need a favor.”
Kageyama huffed a sigh in resignation. “That’s not your dad’s jacket, is it?”
“No one else needs to know that,” he hissed, looking around to be sure no one could actually hear them. “No,” he sighed. “It’s not. I ran into Iwaizumi the night we beat Shiratorizawa and he let me borrow it. I just want to return it to him but I don’t know how to contact him.”
Kageyama fidgeted with the ball in his hands, spinning it restlessly between his fingers. “He likes to check in on me sometimes,” he said. “I don’t think Oikawa-san knows. I don’t think he wants Oikawa-san to know.”
“Trust me, I am not going to tell Oikawa anything. I just need to arrange a meeting with Iwaizumi.”
The ball spun a few more times before Kageyama tucked it under his elbow. He pulled out his phone and sent off a quick text. “I’ll let you know what he says.”
“Thank you!” He breathed a sigh of relief. And because he was actually a reliable senpai, he gave Kageyama a new list of signals to study for their upcoming practice matches.
Later that afternoon he got a text from an unknown number.
[xxxx]: Kageyama said you were looking for me?
His insides did a funny little jig at the message. He cursed at them to behave.
[Me]: You’re a hard man to track down, Iwaizumi.
[Me]: I have something that belongs to you.
He dropped his head to his desk. Gods, what was he doing?
[xxxx]: Name your price.
Oh?
[Me]: One meat bun. Same time, same place.
It was probably too soon to press his luck with his parents about slipping out after dark, but if it would relieve him of the source of his guilt, it was a gamble he was willing to take.
[xxxx]: Friday?
Then again…a weekend night, he could always say he was going to Daichi or Asahi’s. They would let him sneak in after his rendezvous and be his alibi anyway.
[Me]: You’ve got yourself a deal.
[xxxx]: Wear something warmer this time.
[Me]: My, already dictating my wardrobe for this auspicious meeting?
[xxxx]: Are you sure you’re not friends with Oikawa?
Suga laughed at that. Maybe he and the other setter had more in common than he realized. He sent another flippant reply, and tucked his phone away as he got ready for afternoon practice.
He figured that would be the end of it until their pre-arranged meeting, but Iwaizumi had no qualms carrying on their conversation over the next few days. They were both busy, so the texts were sporadic at best, but by the time Friday night rolled around and he was walking briskly (not jogging, he was absolutely not jogging) to the conbini in his own jacket, it hardly felt any different than meeting Daichi or Asahi. When he spotted Iwaizumi waiting though, his throat went dry.
He was leaning against the brick wall in dark-washed denim jeans and the same grey hoodie from the other night, one booted foot propped behind him, as he scrolled through his phone. The harsh blue light illuminated his face, a soft smile crinkling his eyes. A moment later, Suga felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He didn’t want to look away, but when he checked it, he had a new message from Iwaizumi. It was a ridiculous meme, Godzilla swiping at fighter jets overlayed on a volleyball court with the caption “Nice Kill!” and Suga snorted.
Iwaizumi looked up at the sound, his smile widening. (Suga refused to read into that.) “Hey, Suga!”
Suga waggled his phone to indicate he’d seen the message. “This the kind of thing you’re into?” he asked as cheekily as he could.
“Got a problem with my meme humor?”
“Not at all,” Suga said, walking the last few feet and meeting him by the door. He tilted his head to one side as he considered the other boy. “Just seems very…you.” He savored the way Iwaizumi’s cheeks flushed at that, filing it away for later.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and avoided Suga’s gaze.
“Nothing, nothing,” Suga laughed.
“Whatever.” He glanced at Suga from the corner of his eye, taking in his attire and smirking. “I see you dressed appropriately for the weather this time.”
Suga didn’t rise to the bait. He gestured to himself, taking in his black Karasuno VBC jacket and skinny jeans. “I’m always dressed appropriately.”
Iwaizumi laughed and Suga’s face warmed involuntarily. So much for playing it cool.
“So. Are you gonna give me back my jacket now or are you planning on holding it hostage a bit longer?”
“You’re the one who gave it away so brazenly,” Suga folded his arms across his chest and turned to enter the store. “Besides, you still owe me ransom. I believe I was promised a meat bun.”
“Ruthless,” Iwaizumi chuckled as he followed Suga into the shop.
They grabbed their snacks and checked out. Suga bought them drinks; he wasn’t totally ruthless. They settled on the curb again just as they had the previous week, the nearly-full moon illuminating the street in cool light. He pulled Iwaizumi’s jacket out of his bag and handed it back. “A deal’s a deal.”
“Thanks,” he said around a mouthful of meat bun. Suga felt kind of sad as he watched Iwaizumi slip his arms into his jacket, admiring the way it settled perfectly on his broad shoulders. Iwaizumi caught him staring and raised one eyebrow. “What?”
“Just thinking I’m gonna miss it,” he said. He stifled a chuckle when Iwaizumi seemed to choke on his pastry.
“My jacket?” he coughed.
“It was a good luck charm, I’ll have you know.” Suga grinned. He began ticking off examples on his fingers. “On Monday I aced a quiz I was sure I’d failed. On Wednesday, the vending machine gave me an extra energy drink. I found ¥500 on my walk home last night. And,” he paused for dramatic effect, “I made a new friend.” This last he added with a soft smile for the boy next to him and was rewarded with a flustered stammering Iwaizumi.
The taller boy ducked his head into the collar of his jacket, muttering about dumbass setters. When he recovered, taking a deep breath seemingly to collect himself, he said “So, we’re friends now, huh?”
“Yup!” Suga chirped, popping the ‘p.’ He kicked his feet idly in front of him, taking another bite of his meat bun. “Yer shtuck wif me now,” he said.
Iwaizumi shook his head with exasperation. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“Ok mom,” Suga teased, noting with amusement how Iwaizumi instinctively turned a scowl on him until he realized it was Suga he was scowling at.
“I take it back. I’m getting rid of all my friends. Changing my name. Moving to a new country. Don’t come looking for me.” He said it all in a bored monotone, like a mantra he had memorized and chanted every day for years. Being friends with Oikawa, maybe he had. Still, when he looked back at Suga, his face was open, smiling, teasing.
Suga really hoped they were actually friends now. He wanted to keep that smile in his life.
“I feel like I should at least get partial custody after all we’ve been through this week,” Suga said, relentless in his teasing. “It might have Stockholm Syndrome now.”
Iwaizumi barked a laugh. “The jacket has Stockholm Syndrome?”
“Hmm, maybe,” Suga hummed.
“You are so weird.”
Suga beamed.
They finished their snacks with more ridiculous banter and comfortable laughter. The breeze wasn’t as biting as a week ago, but they were also both dressed warm enough for the late fall weather. Still, they couldn’t keep the chill out forever. As their fingers and noses grew colder, their breath swirling in the air in front of them, they knew their excuses were running out.
Daichi was waiting for him. The increasingly frequent texts in his pocket warned him he was probably giving his best friend grey hairs the longer he went without responding. He stood up and stretched his arms above his head with a sigh as the satisfying pull released some of the tension he built up huddled on the hard ground. “Well, I guess our business here is concluded,” he lamented.
Iwaizumi bumped their shoulders together. “Hey, we’ll work out another deal, yeah?”
Suga blinked in the radiance of that smile. “Yeah,” he breathed, then more confidently, “yeah, we will.”
Before they parted, Iwaizumi became shy once again, rubbing his neck before offering the hand to Suga. “If I don’t see you before January, good luck at Nationals.”
“Don’t worry,” Suga said, “we’re gonna win them all.”
They do see each other a few more times before Nationals. There’s another practice match with Aoba Johsai in November. The Seijoh third years had retired of course, but Iwaizumi and the tall middle blocker with the massive eyebrows came by to watch. He didn’t get a chance to say hello, but the jacket mysteriously made its way into Suga’s bag anyway.
When he discovered it that night upon returning home, he couldn’t resist the grin that split his face. He wrapped it around his shoulders and snapped a cheeky selfie.
[Me]: Well, at least one of you wanted to see me. [image attached]
[Iwa]: So that’s where it went.
[Me]: What’d I tell you? Stockholm Syndrome.
They joked and teased each other about it a bit more before falling into their usual congenial conversations. Volleyball. School. Plans for after graduation. The latest monster movie in theaters. Oikawa’s latest antics. Wrapped up in Iwaizumi’s jacket, the spice of his shampoo lingering in the folds of the fabric, Suga felt like they weren’t in separate towns at all.
When the jacket stopped smelling like Iwa, he arranged another transfer. When Nationals was almost upon them he begged for it back.
“I need it for good luck,” he whined into the phone. They’d started calling some nights when they grew tired of texting but still had things to say.
Iwaizumi’s breathy laugh on the other end made him pout. “You don’t need it. You guys will be just fine.”
“Says you,” he huffed. “Have you seen those guys in the top seeds? Monsters, all of them.”
“You’ve got monsters of your own.” He could hear the grin in Iwaizumi’s voice, tinged with pride. He thought of his dear kouhai and pride swelled in his chest, too. “Buuut,” Iwaizumi drawled, a familiar teasing note threaded underneath bringing his thoughts back to the present, “if you’re really so desperate to see me, I guess we can meet up.”
“Please, I just want to see my favorite child.”
They descended into giggles. They both knew it was a lie.
The jacket didn’t provide enough luck to get Karasuno to the finals, and Suga knew it had nothing to do with how far they actually made it, but he still felt lucky to have had the opportunity to play so far with his team. The jacket was a comforting presence when he wanted to cry about their painful loss away from his friends. He knew they wouldn’t judge him, and they were all lamenting in their own ways too, but he just wanted to be alone for a few minutes.
[Iwa]: I know you don’t want to hear this from me, but you guys played a hell of a pair of matches today. You should be proud.
He was proud. They were leaving behind a strong foundation for the future of Karasuno. It didn’t lessen the sting of loss, but he was grateful for Iwaizumi’s kind words. He also found himself wishing the other boy was there with him, but settled for hugging the denim closer to himself.
[Me]: From anyone else it would have sounded patronizing. But I appreciate it from you. Thanks, Iwaizumi.
Their schedules got more hectic as graduation approached. Their texts slowed down, but they still called each other at least once a week. They traded the jacket off every couple weeks. Suga had it when he got his acceptance letter from his top university. They went out for ramen to celebrate. (And to make the swap, since he’d had it for a little over a week and it’d lost its luster.)
They made the last exchange the night before Iwaizumi left for America. Much like the first time, they met at the same conbini.
“I’m not gonna need it in California,” Iwaizumi said as he held it out for Suga. “Promise you won’t be a dumbass and forget to wear it when it gets cold?”
“I’ll wear it all the time. I’m gonna need all the luck I can get in college.” To prove his point, he draped it over his shoulders even in the sweltering summer night. The heat punctuated the sharp spice of Iwaizumi’s cologne, baked into the collar, and Suga was faced with the harsh reality that this would be the last time they’d see each other for years. His throat tightened and he fought back the tears that prickled at his eyelashes.
“Hey, are you crying?” Iwaizumi panicked, reaching out and placing firm, calloused hands on Suga’s shoulders. “You’re gonna do just fine at college! You’re gonna make the best teacher, I’m sure!”
“It’s not that,” he laughed, watery. This ridiculous boy. This kind, handsome, wonderful, silly boy. When had he fallen so in love? He jabbed a fist at Iwaizumi’s thick shoulder. “I’m just, really going to miss you, you know?”
Iwaizumi stared at him for a moment. His brows furrowed in that way they did whenever he was thinking seriously about something, his nose scrunching unconsciously. His eyes searched Suga’s—for what, Suga didn’t know—and then his whole face relaxed with a small smile. “Yeah,” he said, pulling Suga to his chest, startling a gasp out of the setter, and wrapping his arms tight around his shoulders. Instinctively, Suga wrapped his arms around Iwaizumi’s waist. “Yeah, I know. I’m really going to miss you too.”
And because Suga couldn’t resist himself, face buried in Iwaizumi’s chest, he muffled, “More than Oikawa?”
Iwaizumi chuckled above him, though as close as they were he could feel the rumble through his whole body. “As if I’d miss that traitor.” Suga’s heart beat an erratic rhythm as Iwaizumi pressed gentle lips to the crown of his head. He breathed a contented sigh and hugged Suga even tighter. “I’m gonna miss you for a different reason.”
Suga composed himself enough to pull back and meet Iwaizumi’s eyes. He put on a serious expression. “It’s because I’m gonna have all the luck now isn’t it?”
The summer nighttime quiet stretched between them for several heartbeats. Iwaizumi blinked at him, brows and lips drawn tight, like he regretted all his life choices up to that point. Suga bit his lip, wondering if he’d maybe gone too far that time. When he was about to apologize, Iwaizumi broke into laughter, squeezing Suga’s cheeks between his hands. “You are such a little shit.”
Suga would argue that he was right about the jacket’s lucky properties.
After all, he was wearing it when he had his first kiss with a boy he loved.
He would keep that boy updated over their years of distance with every instance of good fortune he had while wearing the Lucky Jacket.
He’s wearing it when his brother gets accepted to his top choice high school.
He’s wearing it when he wins a small sum on a scratch-off ticket.
He’s wearing it when he avoids a near-death experience. (He plays this down, of course, he doesn’t want Hajime to worry too much when there’s nothing he can do.)
He’s wearing it when he gets the call about the job at the elementary school.
He’s wearing it when his kouhai finally meet on the court in the professional league and he gets Kageyama’s autograph.
And when Iwaizumi finally returns to Japan, Suga wears it to the airport to pick him up. It’s faded and beat up and hasn’t smelled like his boyfriend in years, but it’s comforting and familiar and the way Iwaizumi’s face lights up when he sees it, Suga knows he made the right choice.
(He also knows it’s not the jacket Iwaizumi is happy to see, but he can’t let go of an old joke to save his life.)
As much comfort as the jacket has brought him over the years, nothing quite compares to the real thing. Iwaizumi wraps him up in his arms, solid and warm and here, and Suga melts against him. He promised himself he wouldn’t cry, but his traitorous eyes water anyway and he has to bury his face in Iwaizumi’s chest. “Welcome home,” he mumbles into the soft cotton.
He’s not the only emotional one.
Iwaizumi cradles his head with one hand, nuzzling his face into Suga’s temple with a watery chuckle. He lets out a deep sigh and says, “I’m home.”