silver lining┊𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚

➳〔 # 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝟹 〕

〔  𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃   :   𝟷𝟸𝟻𝟹 〕

〔  𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂   :   𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚎  〕

☁︎〔 # 𝚂𝙸𝙻𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 〕☁︎

©𝚏𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚑

Koshi Sugawara was seventeen years old when he realized that he was in love with his best friend, Sawamura Daichi.

The realization dawned on him after they had lost a preliminary match against Nekoma and as everyone on their team was grieving over the loss, he couldn't help but think of how beautiful the other boy looked as tears streamed down his face, face glistening like gold due to a mixture formed from perspiration and being lachrymose.

His own tears had persisted and he wasn't sure if it had just been because of the grief of their loss for the first time of their second year or if the discernment in knowing that he most likely would never have a chance with him dawned on him in that exact moment.

He knew there was a slim chance that they were ever destined to be for one another.

Their timers were off by an hour. Exactly an hour. Nothing more and nothing less.

Sometimes, though it was very rare, a pair of soulmates didn't have timers that were in sync. No one knew why. Some said that you were cursed if your soulmate's timer didn't go off the same time yours did, but fortunately, the second timer always ended up being in sync.

For the gray-haired boy, he would have preferred to be "cursed" than have someone else be his soulmate. Anyways, it was just a myth and even scientists couldn't prove such a superstition to be true.

Making his way home from the thirty-minute train ride it took to get from Tokyo University to his town which neighbored it, he took a glance at his phone, the first since he had left the band room.

DAICHI: did something come up w ur dad?

Scoffing, he tucked his phone back into his pocket as he turned a corner, making his way down the pavement to where his apartment stood at the end of the street. He knew he should respond but what words were thereto say when his mind was clouded with inexplicable jealousy?

☁︎︎ ☁︎︎ ☁︎︎

Upon sticking his key into the lock, he found himself welcomed by darkness. There weren't any lights on other than the bright flickering of the television from the living room, a sapphire color being the only source of luminescence in the apartment. Nothing out of the ordinary.

With a sigh, the gray-haired boy hung his black bag on one of the hooks of the wooden cost rack that stood in a corner close to the door.

Taking off his shoes, he made his way to the room, not feeling obliged to turn on any other light in the house.

As he approached the leather sofa that was in the middle of the room, he could make out the shadowy outline of his father's head. Judging based off of the low, raspy snores that emitted from the man, Suga could tell that he was asleep, yet again.

"Dad," He tapped him on the shoulder.

With a slight shudder, he was awoken from his slumber, adjusting the silver-framed glasses that sat atop his head, he brought them down to his face and looked up at his son with a weary smile.

"How were classes today?"

The same old question was asked daily. He never understood why grownups inquired on matters they had little to no interest in. But he couldn't be rude to him, couldn't bring himself to be, no matter how off putting one of his days had been. So instead of answering truthfully, he dodged the question.

"I had a pop quiz in history."

Satisfied with the short response, his dad nodded, eyes gazing into his before turning to remain glued on the bright screen before him once more.

Biting his lip, Suga headed to the kitchen, opening the fridge to see what was in store for them to eat. There was the usual array of half-empty condiment bottles in the door of the fridge. Taking out a tupperware of leftovers, he set them on a plate and heated them up in the microwave.

"Did you publish anything today?"

"I tried," He shrugged, keeping his eyes glued to the screen.

Suga's father had once been a prosperous businessman, a chief executive of a renowned agency; however, in recent years, he quit and resorted to writing online for an article site which seemed to appeal to single mothers and cat owners for some reason.

When he wasn't writing on his old laptop, he had his gaze fixated on the flatscreen television that sat lonesomely on a dusty wooden table in the living room he spent more of his time in than his own bedroom.

In the other room, his son pulled two clean china plates from out of one of the overhead cabinets and two forks from out of one of the drawers next to the kitchen sink, emptying the contents of the tupperware and taking the plates to the living room on a tray.

Sitting beside his father in silence, Suga began to dig into his food. There had never been any chatter between them during the few times they would eat together and without the chatter of the TV to keep him company in place of his dad, the silver-haired boy would have most likely had to deal with the incoherent frenzy of thoughts his brain would put him through.

This wasn't anything unusual for them. It was their normal as it was normal for other families to laugh and prattle together during their own mealtimes.

It had been their normal ever since his mother died when he was seven, but even before then, he couldn't recall another kind of normal before her death.

As they chewed their food in silence, both pairs of eyes stuck to the television, Suga's mind began drifting away from the sitcom that was playing on the screen as the laugh track went off. His thoughts veered back to the events of today and the pit in his stomach returned.

He knew it was risible to feel so upset over the fact that his best friend had had the typical expression of a person watching a musical performance planted on his face, but envy drove its way to his head.

Was it because he wished he was good enough at something to be looked at like that?

Was it because he wished someone would look at him like that without having some underlying talent?

Was it because he just wished Daichi would look at him like that, talented or not?

With a subtle shake of the head, he stared down at his half-finished plate, picking it up and taking it to the kitchen. He scraped the remaining contents into the plastic wastebin that sat lonesomely in a corner and set the ceramic down into the sink.

He returned to the living room to finish watching the remainder of the sitcom episode that was airing but pursed his lips at the sight of his dad.

His plate was empty aside from some leftover remnants that were too small to be scraped up and eaten, and he was sprawled across the couch, glasses atop his head as his mouth hung slightly open and his chest rose and fell in long, shallow breaths.

The episode had just finished and the credits were rolling. Suga's phone chimed from his pocket and he took it out, reading the screen to see who had texted him this time.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: hey hot chocolate ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

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Date Written: July 20, 2021