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There’s a beautiful boy in the practice room across Miyuki’s.
It’s a quiet spring morning when a gust of wind and a flutter of dark brown hair draws his attention like a magnet- the silhouette of a boy against a backdrop of falling cherry blossoms, hands delicately placed on a trumpet and eyes closed with a gentle smile on his face. The soft light of the early sun illuminates the tips of his hair amber, and Miyuki wonders what it’d be like to run his fingers through it, to comb his fingers through the soft strands of hair and relish in their silk.
There’s also a petal stuck between stray strands of windswept hair that waits to be pulled off by fingers that Miyuki Kazuya wishes were his.
But it’s not until the boy starts playing that Miyuki’s completely captivated, his own (still unopened) instrument case forgotten and loosely held between his fingers as he stares. The sound is unrefined and lacks technique, but there’s life and vigor to his playing that Miyuki hasn’t seen for a long time. The boy plays with confidence, and despite a few notes being off in pitch, the sound itself doesn’t waver once in the song. His hands, though occasionally clumsy on the valves, play with clear fluency and skill, and Miyuki swears he can see the trumpet glitter a brilliant gold in the sunlight. This boy knows how to perform.
The song finishes, and even amongst the quiet twittering of the birds and the chatter of classmates in the courtyard outside, the absence of that playing is deafening. The silence seems to stretch on and on, and Miyuki only realizes he’s been staring absentmindedly when he makes eye contact with the boy, who is peering at him with vividly gold eyes that shake him to the core.
His face warms, and he hurriedly fumbles with his instrument case, flipping it open and pulling out his euphonium in embarrassed haste. By the time he’s got his music propped up on the stand and ready to play, Miyuki notices that the boy is no longer in the practice room. So much for trying to play it cool, he thinks.
He’ll have to come tomorrow to see if he’s there again.
♪❀
The boy is there again the next day.
He looks less composed than he did the day before, with pieces of his hair sticking up and parts of his uniform crooked. He’s tapping vigorously on a little blue flip phone with a Shiba dog charm strapped to it. The charm is cute, he thinks. It suits him.
Miyuki wants to reach out and brush down the stray bits of bedhead and smooth down the wrinkles in his uniform. He wants to touch him and ask what his name is. He wants to hear his voice and see what he’d look like when he smiles, face blooming with joy. He wonders what his laughter would sound like. Would he find Miyuki’s jokes funny? Would he giggle at his snarky comments or laugh loudly at his sharp remarks?
After closing the phone and setting up his music stand, he glances once again at the practice room Miyuki is in. This time, Miyuki’s learned from his mistake, and by the time the boy looks he’s got his instrument in his hands and his eyes focused on the music sheet. A couple of discreet peeks later and Miyuki knows he’s shaken off the boy’s suspicion and can go back to watching him in peace.
Ah, wait, isn’t he being sort of creepy himself for doing this?
...He picks up his euphonium and decides to start practicing instead.
In hindsight, he really shouldn’t be spying on another kid while the rest of the band is practicing hard for the upcoming placement tests and contest. With nearly a hundred vying for the top spots in the Seidou Honors, Miyuki should be practicing to defend his position in the band. Wasting his time staring at a boy he finds fascinating should be the last thing on his mind. Yet, why is he so captivated by him? Reason seems to escape him when the light of that boy is so much brighter.
Maybe it’s the energy and life he seems to breathe into the trumpet. He plays with a vigor Miyuki hasn’t seen in a long time, even amongst the usually rowdy trumpeters in the band. Or maybe it’s the breathtaking sight of the sun glowing him a soft white, hair amber where the light shines through and fingertips peachy red. He resembles an angel, dressed in his wrinkled white button-down and crooked tie.
Miyuki practices for only fifteen minutes. The thought of talking to the boy and approaching him is the only thing that occupies his mind, so much so that he can’t read the music without thinking about him. Yet, he doesn’t seem to mind this new development.
The warm, fuzzy feeling of attraction is foreign but not unwelcome.
♪❀
♪❀
He stares out the window for the entire class period. His eyes glaze over the courtyard outside of the window and at the giant tree at the center, where dark brown branches burst into brilliant pink blossoms to announce spring’s arrival. His teacher’s ramblings seem to fade away into low drones, as if he were underwater, and the branches seem to sway in the wind in time with the noise. The noise soon evolves from low, dry garbles to the bright, energetic sound of a trumpet, and the sunlight seeping through the curtains and reflecting onto the walls across from him glows a brilliant gold as the sun begins to slide towards the horizon. Even the drifting cherry blossoms outside seem to remind him of mornings watching the boy, and Miyuki sighs.
“What are you sighing so dramatically for, idiot?”
Kuramochi is seated backward in his chair, arms crossed over the backrest and foot kicked up on Miyuki’s desk. He’s watching him with a skeptical look, as if he were expecting Miyuki to spew new bullshit about the first-years he’s decided to bully.
“I’m not sighing,” Miyuki lies.
“You just did.”
He’s not wrong, infuriatingly. Though to Kuramochi’s credit, he’s a lot more observant than he appears to be, with his fearsome face regrettably waiving off any prospective social groups with good intentions. Kuramochi’s almost just as lonely as Miyuki, and he can’t help but feel pity for his friend. Maybe Miyuki deserves to be unpopular because of his abrasive personality, but Kuramochi certainly doesn’t.
Kuramochi knocks on Miyuki’s head a couple of times.
“Oi! Anyone in there? I asked why you were sighing.”
Miyuki folds his arms and leans back in his chair, readjusting his glasses. They’ve slid down his nose bridge again. “I just happened upon an interesting kid, is all.”
Kuramochi laughs, smacking the desk with a sound loud enough to draw the attention of their other classmates still lingering in the classroom. They only look over for a brief moment before turning back to their own conversations, and the two of them pay no mind.
“Found fresh meat to bully, eh?”
“...You could say that.”
“What’s the gloomy look for, then? C’mon, you’ve gotta show me who your new victim is some time!”
Kuramochi gets up from his seat, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He sticks his other hand back in his pocket and starts walking towards the door, glancing over his shoulder to signal Miyuki to follow.
“Miyuki! Practice starts in fifteen, so you’d better not be late!” He calls before disappearing into the hall.
There’s no way in hell Miyuki is introducing that boy to Kuramochi. He’d be eaten alive before Miyuki would even get the chance to devour him for himself.
♪❀
Miyuki sets down his instrument case by his locker, flipping open the clasps and gently pulling his euphonium out of its case. As he attaches the mouthpiece, he looks over at the director, who’s standing by the podium ramrod straight. Though Director Kataoka is strict and tends to sadistically prolong practices to fix mistakes, his dedication to the craft is evident. It rubs off on the other members and motivates them in a way no other director has. Miyuki takes his seat with the other euphoniums and starts to rifle through his music, checking to make sure that everything is there. The director clears his throat, and the band stills to attention.
“You all know that solo and ensemble is coming up next month on the 26th. Sign-ups are posted on the bulletin board outside of the door. I trust that you all can figure out your ensembles on your own. Let’s begin practice.”
Solo and ensemble, while not as important as the prefecture-wide competitions, were the only time of year where individual band members could show off their skill and technique in a formal battleground. Miyuki, reigning first chair euphonium, had a rough position to defend this year. Though competition amongst euphoniums was considerably easier than competition amongst popular instruments like flutes and trumpets, he didn’t want to risk losing his spot to another player because of his own neglect and arrogance.
The chatter of the band room post-practice was especially busy due to the announcement of solo and ensemble signups being posted, and Miyuki could already feel the oncoming headache with the number of people who’d be asking him to join their ensemble. With his reputation of being both a talented conductor and a talented euphonium player, he’d be a huge threat to any other ensembles he was up against. Stacking this with the already intense competition of the band and the looming contest over everyone’s head, he was sure that there’d be an onslaught of requests asking him to join their ensemble.
Except, the only one who asks is Kuramochi.
Watanabe stands with his french horn behind Kuramochi, offering a sympathetic smile after what was probably the most pathetic sight he’d ever seen: Miyuki sitting alone in his section with drooping euphonium in hand and not a single band member approaching him to ask.
He guesses that Nabe joined Kuramochi for similar reasons: pity for the two most unpopular members of the band. Miyuki has to give it to Kuramochi for managing to string Nabe along, though. Though his playing isn’t particularly outstanding, he has an impressive knowledge bank of musical theory. There isn’t a single player better versed in analyzing sheet music and critiquing technique, and this skill would no doubt be essential when perfecting their sound when the competition date crawled closer. Nabe would be a great asset to the ensemble, especially with strong players like Miyuki and Kuramochi to back him up.
They just need two more players for a quintet.
“Perhaps we should each draft up a list of possible players to recruit?” Nabe suggests. “I doubt there would be many complete groups on the first day of sign ups, so I’m sure we wouldn’t be missing out if we waited for a couple of days.”
Kuramochi thinks over his suggestion for a moment and glances over at Miyuki, who nods in agreement. There really wasn’t much they could do, anyway. The band hall was quickly emptying out, leaving them and a handful of other lingering students who were still packing up.
In short, there wasn’t anybody they could ask to join with such a small pool of players.
“Sounds good to me. Let’s make a group chat and send each other the lists tonight,” Kuramochi says.
Miyuki frowns. “Can’t we just email? I’m not a huge fan of texting.”
Kuramochi kicks him and laughs. “Quit being so outdated! Don’t let a few measly texts scare you, Miyuki!”
Ugh. He knows that he’s behind on the latest devices and technology, but he just never saw the point in wasting time and money on buying fancy new things. His current phone suited his needs just fine, and the only people who ever seemed to have a problem with it were his peers.
He’d rather be spending the resources on band instead of playing around with the newest phone.
Nabe laughs at Miyuki’s flat expression and takes out a pen and paper to write down his number. “Let him be, Kuramochi,” he sighs good-naturedly. His eyes widen when he glances down at his phone, and he quickly picks up his instrument case and heads for the door after scribbling on the note.
“I’ve got to go, so you two can just message me anytime and I’ll give it a look when I’m free. I’ll see you two tomorrow!”
At Nabe’s departure, Kuramochi slings an arm over Miyuki’s shoulder and grins.
“Well, luckily for us, I already have the perfect member in mind to add to our ensemble.”
“I hope you know that they have to be a trumpet. A trumpet is non-negotiable.”
Kuramochi clicks his tongue teasingly. “Of course I know that! Do I look like an idiot to you?” Miyuki smirks and Kuramochi shuts his eyes, exasperated. “Actually, wait, don’t answer that. I don’t feel like getting my day ruined by whatever shit you have to say.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Bastard.”
“You know you love it!” Miyuki playfully swings an arm over Kuramochi, who shoves his face away in response.
“Shut up! You have no idea what you’re talking about.” He hooks an arm around Miyuki to go for a hold, halting when a looming shadow suddenly blankets the two of them.
“Are we horsing around in the band hall?” Director Kataoka asks with burly arms crossed over his chest. Though his dark shades cover his eyes, Miyuki’s sure that they’re glaring right at the two of them.
He reminds them of a grizzly bear ready to attack.
Kuramochi and Miyuki detach from each other, shrinking away and meekly pulling together their things. He’s still standing behind them, shadow still blocking the overhead lights. They turn around slowly.
“No, sir,” the two murmur, straightening their postures.
“Good.” An eerie silence follows and he walks off, leaving the two of them standing in a nervous daze. They let out a sigh of relief when he’s far enough not to be within earshot.
And all it takes is a single shared look between the two to know that they really should be leaving as soon as possible, before Kataoka becomes even more aggravated.
♪❀
At their next practice, Kuramochi proudly shows off his text messages to Miyuki and Nabe, who lean over to read the small on-screen text.
Miyuki reads through the messages. “You… Found us a trumpet?”
“Of course I did!” The phone starts to shake when Kuramochi talks, no longer paying attention to keeping his hand steady. Nabe places a hand on top of his wrist to keep the screen still and frowns when he reads the name at the top of the screen.
“...I don’t recognize that name. Is he a third-year?”
Kuramochi is quiet for a moment.
“...First-year, actually.”
At Miyuki’s incredulous look, Kuramochi is quick to go on the defensive. “Trust me! He’s not that bad. I’ve heard him play a few times.”
“Alright, fine,” Miyuki resigns at Kuramochi’s adamance. “So, where is this mystery player?”
“He should be here in abouuuuuut,” Kuramochi checks the time. “Now, actually.”
“No-”
The door bursts open from behind Miyuki right on cue.
“KURAMOCHI-SENPAI! APOLOGIES FOR BEING LATE!”
Oh, Lord, give Miyuki the strength to tolerate whatever devil-spawn Kuramochi summoned to join their ensemble.
However, when he turns around expecting to find a bratty, snotty-nosed first-year, he comes face to face with the same beautiful boy that had enraptured him from the very first day his eyes landed on him. The words fly from his head immediately, leaving him speechless and gazing at him in awe.
A part of him still can’t comprehend that the loud yell he’s heard earlier came from such a pretty face.
Before he can say anything, though, the boy charges towards Kuramochi, who pulls him by the ear and thwacks him on the head.
“Moron! Idiot! Why’d you arrive so late? You kept us all waiting!”
Kuramochi now has him in a headlock, pinching his beautiful cheeks and pulling his (presumably) soft hair, and Miyuki wants to cry. The most he can do right now is stand pathetically and watch as the boy of his dreams gets choked out and berated by his best friend.
What a life he’s living.
“K-Kuramochi-senpai! I’m dying!” He chokes out, and Miyuki wants to put his head in his hands because the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen in his entire life has spoken right in front of him for the first time and they just so happened to be pleas for respite, of all the damned things in the world to say.
Though, on the bright side, if there even is one at this point, is that Miyuki now knows the boy’s name: Sawamura.
“What a cute name.” He thinks to himself.
Except maybe he wasn’t thinking to himself, because now the two of them are looking at him like he’s grown another head.
“You what?” Sawamura asks, and Miyuki tries to pretend like nothing ever happened.
“Ah, looks like we got stuck with another moron,” He says in hopes of diverting attention away from the mortifying thing he’s just blurted.
Sawamura’s eyes narrow, and he barks, “You- you bully! Snake! I haven’t even done anything to you!”
Kuramochi begins to howl in laughter, arms still locked around Sawamura.
“Kyahahaha!!! Looks like you two are going to get along just fine!”
Miyuki can only scratch the back of his head helplessly as he decides to keep his mouth shut just in case anything else embarrassing threatens to fly out of his mouth unprovoked. He’s embarrassed himself enough for one day.
“Ahem.” Nabe mercifully clears his throat, and Kuramochi releases Sawamura to introduce him formally. Well, as formally as Kuramochi can achieve.
“This is our new trumpeter. He’s not amazing, but he’ll have to do since none of us are particularly close with any other trumpeters nor know any other available trumpets.”
“PLEASED TO MEET YOU!” Sawamura bellows, bowing dramatically to Miyuki. It’s comical and adorable, and Miyuki can’t help but let out a few laughs. His voice, though incredibly loud, is surprisingly pleasant and cheerful the more he listens, and Miyuki finds it refreshing. It perfectly matches the trumpet playing Miyuki has become so addicted to: full of life, vigor, and energy. He’s got a slight accent, too. Perhaps he grew up in the countryside? Though subtle enough that it’s easy to gloss over, Miyuki can pick it apart almost perfectly, listening and hanging onto every syllable that escapes Sawamura’s mouth.
And his mouth up close is even more enticing than when he was across the hall and in a separate room. It’s plump with a soft pink sheen, and it puckers out ever so slightly whenever he frowns. How cute. His hair is also much fuller and darker than he initially believed; with the bright sun constantly illuminating his hair, he’d gotten the impression that his hair was a soft chestnut, with tips of amber from sun damage. However, in the bright light of the band hall, Miyuki can see clearly that Sawamura’s hair is dark enough to almost look black, with long bangs that frame his eyes and cheeks.
It takes everything in him not to reach out and touch him.
Sawamura looks up from his bow to look at Miyuki inquisitively, and his gold eyes are as striking now as they were in the practice room- maybe even more now that Miyuki can get a good look at him up close. They seem to pierce right through him, less like a benevolent angel and more like a cat fixated on its prey. Despite his loud voice and behavior, his eyes seem to tell a different story, constantly watching and observing carefully. And the way he looks at Miyuki sends shivers down his spine at the sheer intensity of his gaze. He could get used to this.
A greedy, possessive part of him wants to keep Sawamura to himself. To keep those piercing eyes locked only on him. He wants Sawamura to gaze only at him and to jump into his arms instead of Kuramochi’s whenever he calls. He wants to hold him close and comb his fingers through his dark, dark hair and listen to him talk about anything and everything. He just wants to be someone special in Sawamura’s life.
In hindsight, he’s probably been staring and not saying anything for way too long, though, because Sawamura stands straight up and asks a tentative “Miyuki-senpai?” that makes his face bloom bright red before he even realizes it. Miyuki turns away, clearing his throat and willing for the heat in his face to go down.
Damn it! He’s just way too cute!
To his dismay, Sawamura continues to poke and pry, leaning close to Miyuki and repeating his name again, which makes his ears warm even more. Miyuki pushes him aside, laughing half-heartedly and giving him a quiet “the pleasure’s mine.”
Kuramochi clears his throat loudly, slinging his instrument case over his shoulder and getting ready to leave. “Looks like that’s settled. We just need one more member and we’ll be all set, so I’ll let you and Nabe take care of the rest.”
“Wow, Kuramochi, you’re more helpful than I thought!” Miyuki teases. He glances at Sawamura to gauge for a reaction, but the boy has his attention elsewhere. Damn.
“Shut up, you four-eyes! Be thankful I managed to find us a trumpet player on such short notice. I’m going, see ya’ tomorrow.” Nabe follows as Kuramochi leaves, the two making small-talk as they slide the door open and step out of the room.
When the door closes and their footsteps can no longer be heard echoing down the hallway, Sawamura takes out his phone and offers it to Miyuki.
The Shiba charm is still attached, with cheerful puppy-eyes and a lolling tongue smiling back at him.
“Please give me the honor of obtaining your phone number, Miyuki-senpai!”
“Okay, okay, calm down,” Miyuki says, taking out his old, barely used phone. Though he’s not particularly fond of texting, he figures he could make an exception for Sawamura. After all, this was probably the only time he’s going to offer, and he didn’t want to let his chance slip away.
The two of them soon part and Miyuki prays that this day wasn’t a dream, that Sawamura would look at him and grin the next day they see each other in the practice rooms. He’ll get a chance to play alongside him and listen to his music, he realizes with glee. He’ll get to stare at him for as much as he wants and listen to him for however long their practices are.
Miyuki smiles to himself. Things will certainly get more interesting for the next few weeks.
♪❀
The first practice is… a disaster, to say the very least.
They’re in a practice room Nabe’s scouted out at the end of the hallway, tucked away from the other practice rooms and spacious enough to fit the five of them.
Plus, they’ve miraculously managed to pull together a misfit group of three second-years and two first-years; it’s not exactly an ideal outcome, being forced to group up with first-years after everyone else in their grade avoided them like the plague, but it honestly could’ve been much worse. Furuya’s not a bad trombone player, and after a little coaching and practice with volume control and technique, he should be on par with the rest of the skilled trombone players in their grade.
Sawamura’s got great potential, that goes without saying, but good lord his technique can be sloppy sometimes, and Miyuki resists the urge to cringe whenever he isn’t controlling his breath properly or starts to droop his arms from fatigue.
And when they play, well, attempt to, play in unison, their synergy is so bad it could make even a deaf person cry.
Kuramochi has always struggled with keeping the tempo, having a tendency to gradually speed up throughout the piece, and his problem shines especially prominently when the rest of the group is scrambling to catch up with his playing, missing notes and forgetting their entrances.
Nabe isn’t necessarily problematic in a way that’s easy to fix- the main thing he lacks is confidence and dexterity, and the only surefire way to remedy those is experience.
The piece they’ve picked out is a fairly difficult contemporary piece that Miyuki’s well-versed in, which gives them a slight advantage in that at least one of them knows what the music is actually supposed to sound like through the messy cacophony of noise.
After their tenth (Fifteen? Twentieth? Miyuki can’t remember anymore.) run-though, Miyuki feels like his soul has left his body.
Nabe and Kuramochi look equally tired, with every note becoming more sloppy as time goes on and their breathing labored. Furuya looks dead to the world, barely able to move his arm anymore. He’s lying down on the floor and staring up at the ceiling with eyes screwed shut, no doubt trying to take a nap even with all of the ruckus going on around him.
However, Sawamura still looks raring to go, enthusiastically waving his trumpet around and asking for another rerun.
“Idiot…” Kuramochi wheezes from his hunched position on a chair. “The rest of us can’t keep up anymore. Give us a break, will ‘ya?”
Kuramochi’s right. They’ve been working at it for more than two hours already, and their sound hasn’t been improving since the fatigue started to seriously kick in. They’re all due for a break.
“...Water…” Furuya gasps from his spot on the floor.
In all honesty, Furuya can be just as troubling as Sawamura sometimes, if not moreso.
His stamina and breath control are terrible, no doubt from always going one-hundred percent in volume and power. Miyuki almost feels frustrated on Furuya’s behalf for not being able to participate in some of their run-throughs just because of his fatigue. He wonders how Furuya will manage to survive when the day of the competition comes closer and their practices grow longer.
“Furuya, want to come with me to refill our water bottles?” Nabe offers in hopes that a short walk outside of the practice room will help him reenergize. Furuya has to be pulled up by a struggling Nabe to get to his feet, but he manages to trudge himself out the door anyway, empty water bottle held loosely between his fingers.
Kuramochi conveniently decides he needs to go to the restroom a couple of minutes after Nabe and Furuya leave, which leaves Sawamura and Miyuki alone in the room. Together.
Surprisingly, the silence between them doesn’t feel awkward. Sawamura’s presence alone is comforting to him, and to gaze at him in close quarters rather than behind windows embedded in the doors of the practice rooms feels ethereal in its own right.
Sawamura fiddles with his trumpet, playing with the valves and scribbling on his sheet music. Miyuki seizes the opportunity to talk with him, walking over to him as he continues to write.
“Whatcha’ doing?” Miyuki prods, leaning over his shoulder to peer at his notes.
Well, to call them notes is a generous term.
The writing is near illegible, with indecipherable scrawls and symbols splattered all over the pages. Giant letters that read “SLOW DOWN!!!” are pasted at the top of the second page, with more messy scripts along the margins to accompany them. How Sawamura can read these with a single glance, Miyuki has no idea.
“...Your handwriting is horrible. How are you able to read this?”
Sawamura whips around to frown at Miyuki, startling him at the sudden movement.
“Miyuki Kazuya! My handwriting is perfectly legible!” He gathers the sheet music up into a frazzled-looking stack and picks his trumpet from his lap, messing with the valves again.
“You’re going to break it if you keep playing around like that, you know,” Miyuki says, finding amusement in how Sawamura visibly bristles. Even the way he yowls at Miyuki’s teasing resembles a cat, Miyuki chuckles to himself.
“I’m not playing around! I’m trying to figure something out.”
Oh? This piques his interest. What has the ever-lovely Sawamura Eijun been trying to figure out?
“What are you trying to do? Maybe I can help.” Miyuki tosses the line, hoping Sawamura will take the bait and accept his offer.
To his surprise and delight, Sawamura takes apart the stack and pulls out the third page, pointing at one of the measures and leaning in close to Miyuki, their heads only inches apart. He smells nice, Miyuki thinks to himself. Like sweet fruit and fresh flowers.
His hair tickles when it brushes his cheek, too. And his skin feels soft whenever their fingers touch on the pages. And the little faces he makes when he’s thinking are endearing, from the way his nose scrunches up to the way he sticks his tongue just slightly out from between his lips. And-
“Are you listening, Miyuki-senpai?”
“...Hm?”
Sawamura’s looking at him expectantly, like he’s waiting for Miyuki to give some insightful, otherworldly knowledge about whatever he just talked about. Problem is, Miyuki has no idea what he just talked about nor can he conjure up any kind of knowledge besides Your eyes are pretty.
“Er… run that by me again?”
“Miyuki Kazuya!” Sawamura pouts. “Pay attention this time, will ‘ya? Don’t stare off into space while I’m talking!” He shakes Miyuki violently, which makes his head throb.
“Alright, alright,” Miyuki says, clutching his head in his hands. “You don’t have to shake me like that! I’m listening.”
Another observation to add to Miyuki Kazuya’s ever-growing encyclopedia appropriately named Facts About Sawamura Eijun: His eyes light up spectacularly when he talks about things he enjoys.
In fact, his entire being seems to glow with bright, animated energy. Miyuki’s completely enthralled in the gestures he makes, the faces he pulls, and the way he voices his thoughts- a little disorganized and yet loud and striking at the same time.
“So I was thinking, what if instead of a duet at this part, we could make this a solo instead? It would work out great, right? I’ll definitely help us shine at this part, I swear it!”
Miyuki hums in acknowledgement, considering the suggestion. Though Furuya would not be happy about giving up that part to Sawamura only, it’s an interesting change in the piece’s flow, and he wonders if it’d actually work in practice.
“I’ll bring it up next practice,” he says, and Sawamura beams.
And oh, what a lovely smile it is. The way his cheeks glow a warm red and the corner of his eyes crinkle in pure joy make Miyuki melt, and he’s left to wonder how on Earth the untouchable, ethereal being he saw a couple of weeks ago in the practice rooms is the same bright summer beauty he’s staring at now.
Sawamura is no mythical angel. He’s not a distant, far-away creature to be admired from behind a glass display. He’s not an untouchable, majestic being, hidden away behind a cold and unforgiving distance that people can only admire and revere.
No, Sawamura Eijun is a star.
He pulls and pulls and pulls and pulls until you’re stuck in his orbit, circling around him and his warmth indefinitely. And within this warmth blooms life and energy, the kind that lifts you up and heals your soul as you bask in the light and feel the sun on your face. Sawamura bloomed warmth into Miyuki, pulling him into his orbit until he was the only thing Miyuki could see.
His luminosity is enough to completely engulf Miyuki’s view, and his gravity is enough to sweep him off his feet and draw him into a perpetual orbit.
“Thank you, Miyuki-senpai! I’m sure the other senpais will agree once you bring it up!”
Miyuki grins back and slings his arm around Sawamura’s shoulder, drawing him in closer. “Of course!” He says cheekily. “Anything for my dearest kouhai!”
Before Sawamura can answer back, a low voice interrupts them from the doorway.
"Ew, you two stop being gross. This is a public room.”
Ah, yes. He’d forgotten about Kuramochi. And Nabe. And Furuya.
Sawamura separates himself from Miyuki, hastily walking over to the doorway to talk with Kuramochi and say hi to Nabe and Furuya, who are peering over Kuramochi’s shoulder from behind him.
“I leave to go use the restroom for fifteen minutes and you’re already doing some lecherous things to your poor kouhai.” He picks up his music and goes to stand by Sawamura. “You’re not allowed to go near Sawamura for the rest of practice.”
“What? I wasn’t doing anything!” Miyuki protests, glancing over at Nabe hoping for some backup. To his dismay, all Nabe does is shrug and laugh helplessly. Lovely.
On the other side of the room, flanked by a protective Kuramochi and a disinterested Furuya, Sawamura’s happily gulping down some water, completely ignoring Miyuki’s plight.
Miyuki sighs in defeat and spends the rest of their practice standing opposite Sawamura, his music stand pulled up by Kuramochi so high he can’t see anything but the papers propped up against it.
♪❀
A week later, when everyone is packed up and trickling out of the band hallway to head home, Sawamura tugs on Miyuki’s sleeve and asks him to stay after for a minute.
“Sure. Whatcha’ need?”
Sawamura grabs him by the wrist and aggressively pulls him towards their practice room, flipping on the lights and slamming the door shut behind them. Miyuki bristles and backs up to lean against the door.
“Wha-”
“SHHHHHH!!!” At Miyuki’s dumbfounded expression, Sawamura looks around dramatically and rifles through his bag to pull out some wrinkled sheet music.
“I need your help, Miyuki-senpai!” He pleads. “Don’t tell Furuya, but I’m having trouble on the part where it’s just the two of us! His loud noise covers for the both of us, but I can feel myself falling behind!”
That was it? That whole show just to ask for help? Miyuki bursts out laughing, clutching his sides at Sawamura’s ridiculousness.
“MIYUKI KAZUYA! IT’S NOT FUNNY!”
“Okay-” Wheeze. “Okay. It’s not. Heh. ”
“WAS THAT A ‘HEH’ I HEARD? IT DEFINITELY WAS!”
“Was not!” Miyuki singsongs, still chuckling. When Sawamura starts to look a little too upset, he changes the subject, taking the sheet music from him and skimming over them. The part he assumes to be the issue is circled and highlighted immensely, with smeared pencil and old imprints of long-erased notes beneath those. A series of fast sixteenth notes with tricky fingerings stare back at him from the page, and even he has to admit that they’d probably be difficult for him to get the hang of as well without lots of time spent practicing.
“Well?” Sawamura’s voice is suddenly way too close to his ear, and it takes everything in him not to jump back. His head is too close to Miyuki’s for comfort, and the smell of fruit and flowers is back. What shampoo does Sawamura use anyways, to get his hair looking that soft and smelling that good?
Miyuki fumbles for a pencil in his own bag and starts to scribble in his own notes on top of the measure. “For starters,” he says, Sawamura watching from behind him inquisitively. “You can work on your intonation and sound quality. Get those right, and you’ll already be three steps ahead of your average trumpeter.” He hands Sawamura the notes.
“Thank you, Miyuki-senpai!” Sawamura beams, and ah, there it is again. That same electric feeling that seems to turn Miyuki’s insides to mush whenever Sawamura’s near. That same thrill he gets whenever their fingers touch, if only for a brief moment.
He’s only known Sawamura for a few days, and yet something inside him yearns for even more. When their eyes meet every time they play together, it’s as if a spark, no, not a spark, an electrifying bolt of lightning passes through them. It shakes him to his core whenever his gold eyes and bright grin are directed towards him, and feelings of greed bubble up like a geyser every single time, growing stronger by the minute.
Miyuki pulls two chairs next to each other, sitting down in one and patting the other to motion Sawamura over. Happily making his way over, Sawamura plops down next to him.
Their knees brush together, and Miyuki marvels at the fact that Sawamura does not recoil or jump away at the contact. Sawamura leans against him, reading through the sheet music and laughing whenever Miyuki makes a snarky comment.
An hour later, the sheet music is long forgotten as the two talk late into the evening, when the janitor has to knock on the door and tell them to leave.
They talk on the way home, as well, and part with smiles and cheerful farewells.
When Miyuki arrives home, with his father still gone at work and the house empty and quiet, the sound of Sawamura’s laughter fills his heart with joy. As he cooks himself rice, he wonders what kinds of dishes Sawamura would enjoy. Would he like spicier dishes? Savory ones? Does he have a sweet tooth? Miyuki smiles to himself when he thinks about inviting him over for a meal.
At bedtime, he flops down onto the bed and stares up at the ceiling for a while, with memories of the day still running through his mind. He hasn’t felt this light in a long time, and this dreamy feeling is embraced with open arms.
Just as he starts to drift off into sleep, his phone chimes with a text message. He blearily sticks his glasses onto his face, opening his phone to see Sawamura’s name light up in front of him.
Sawamura: sleep well, miyuki kazuya!!!!!!!
Sawamura: :)
Miyuki: Thanks. You too.
Miyuki considers for a moment.
Miyuki: :)
♪❀
Miyuki likes Sawamura so much it’s starting to be problematic.
After class ends and it’s time for them to pack up and head to band practice, Kuramochi pokes at him, teasing him for being “way too chummy with Sawamura.”
“What can I say?” Miyuki says as the two meander down the hallway and outside of the main building. “He makes for some great entertainment.”
“If I hadn’t known any better, I would’ve thought you were in love with him!” Kuramochi elbows him playfully, but when Miyuki hears this, the words die down in his throat and the conversation goes silent.
Is he in love with Sawamura? He definitely likes Sawamura and looks forward to seeing him at practice, but is it really enough to call love?
The idea of love is foreign to Miyuki. He’s not sure how exactly to handle things when it comes to love and romance- he’s always turned down love confessions, and band has taken up such a huge portion of his mind and life that he’s never really had the time to pay attention to anything else.
Kuramochi notices the shift in atmosphere and gawks at Miyuki, who’s still staring quietly down at the ground as they walk.
“Wait... Don’t tell me I’ve actually hit the mark with that one. I was just kidding around, you know.”
He takes Miyuki’s silence as affirmation.
“No way! Actually, come to think of it, yes way. You two are all over each other every time we practice. The rest of us can’t stand it.”
Miyuki chuckles at this one. “Are you sure I’m in love with him? It sounds a little far-fetched to me.”
“ Far-fetched? Are you kidding me? There’s no way in hell it’s far-fetched. Anyone within a fifty-kilometer radius of you two can tell just how head over heels you are for that kid.” He roughly pats Miyuki on the back. “Congrats, you’ve just found your first love! You’re a real man, now!”
“First love…” Miyuki repeats, turning the thought over and over in his head.
The words sound foreign on his tongue. The concept sounds foreign in his brain. The idea is foreign to… him.
And yet, something about it feels incredibly right. What else could it be? A mere senpai’s affection for his kouhai? A friend’s fondness for his equal? Nothing else clicks in the same way.
Though, Miyuki’s never really thought about doing any of the stuff lovers do to Sawamura. Now that the idea is implanted in his head, he can’t help but wonder about what it’d be like to kiss Sawamura. To hold hands with him and hold him close when he captures his lips and claims him as his own. To claim that boy as his own, and his alone. He has a low chuckle at this.
“I’m getting a bad feeling at that laugh,” Kuramochi interjects, interrupting his train of thought. “You’d better not be cooking up any schemes in that head of yours. One word of Sawamura being hurt in any way, and your ass is grass.”
Miyuki grins as he opens the door to a bustling band hall. “Duly noted.”
♪❀
Their practices get longer and longer as the day of the competition draws near.
They wear themselves ragged practicing, and Miyuki finds that he doesn’t even have the energy at the end of the day to think about Sawamura and his possible first love. There just isn’t the time.
Solo and ensemble is a little more than a week away, and there’s still a myriad of wrinkles in their song that Miyuki wants to smooth out. The glaring issues are fixed, and for a less competitive group of kids, they’d definitely place.
However, Inashiro’s hosting this year’s solo and ensemble, and they would be all too happy to completely crush Seidou and every other competing school along with them.
“From the top,” Miyuki says, watching everyone lift their instruments as they wait for his count-off.
He has to admit, as hastily put together as their ensemble is, Miyuki couldn’t have asked for a better group to work with. They’re engaged, motivated to practice, and don’t complain when practices prolong for extra hours. Even when lacking in skill, they make up for it with dedication and endurance. They’re more than enough for Miyuki.
And this run-through is… near perfect. Miyuki could explode from the sheer joy that makes his heart pound when the tempo is perfect, everyone is on beat, nobody is too loud or too quiet, and the piece carries the same feeling of bright, strong energy Miyuki felt the first time he listened to it.
There are a few minor nitpicks to work on in order to bring the piece up to his standards, but they now have enough time to spend the next few days smoothing them down without worrying about getting points docked off for glaring issues.
“Sawamura,” he says, thirty minutes later when the room has emptied out and the two of them are alone again. It’s starting to become customary, him and Sawamura hanging out to talk and spend time together for an extra hour or so after everyone’s gone.
“Yes, Director Miyuki!” Sawamura exclaims, straightening his posture comically. Miyuki chuckles.
“Should we go over a few measures before we go?”
“YES, PLEASE!”
Miyuki hums in acknowledgement, leaning down to grab his water bottle from beneath his chair. He tips the bottle up, hoping to take a swig of water before he resumes talking, only to find that the bottle is empty.
“Whoops, looks like I forgot to refill it. I’ll be right back, Sawamura,” he says, walking over to the door to leave for a nearby water fountain.
“Wait!” Sawamura tugs on Miyuki’s hand. It’s warm, Miyuki notes, and he resists the urge to squeeze it. It’s not his hand to hold, and he’s not even sure if Sawamura shares the same feelings of attraction as he does. He’s seen his overly friendly nature and his interactions with his classmates— all of which were shared by Miyuki as well.
“I want to come with you! Let’s go together, Miyuki-senpai!”
“Ah, oka-!” Caught off-guard, Miyuki is dragged down the hallway as Sawamura forges ahead of him, hand clasped tightly in his. When Miyuki notices this, his voice dies down and he decides to walk alongside him happily.
The school is nearly empty in the evenings, and their footsteps echo in the halls as they walk. Miyuki stares at the back of Sawamura’s head, noticing the little strands of stray hairs sticking up. They look wispy and incredibly soft to the touch. A part of him wishes he could touch them to tell if that were true. To smooth down those wild strands the same way he can effortlessly smooth down the wrinkles in unrefined music.
Even with all of his time spent staring at his hair and thinking about its softness, not once has Miyuki reached out to touch it. He’s afraid he’ll overstep boundaries and drive Sawamura away the same way his abrasiveness drives away his classmates.
They’re still holding hands when they stop at a water fountain at the end of a different hallway. Their fingers are tightly laced together, and prying them off in order to use the fountain feels like torture. He already misses the warmth of Sawamura’s hand.
Sawamura refills his own bottle first as Miyuki stands by. When Miyuki’s filling his, he feels a hand brush against the back of his head. It plays around with his hair, tugging on it slightly and twirling it. He turns around to see Sawamura staring curiously up at him.
“Sorry! It just looked really nice from the back,” he blurts, face turning slightly red from being caught by Miyuki. It’s cute.
“It’s alright. I don’t mind.” He almost tells Sawamura to keep doing what he’s doing. Almost.
But reason still overpowers Miyuki’s desire, and he keeps his mouth shut.
The two walk back to the practice room in an awkward silence, but it’s not the same silence Miyuki typically is familiar with. The ones he knows are quiet, tense, and cold; they’re often the result of him saying something he shouldn’t have or being more harsh than usual when giving feedback. Instead, this awkward silence is… Giddy. Nervous. Like his heart is about to beat out of his chest with every glance Sawamura sneaks at him or every step that hesitates ever so slightly, like he’s going to say something at any moment.
But, that moment never comes, and they spend the entire time in the practice room sitting squished against each other, poring over sheet music and watching performances online.
Eventually, Sawamura falls asleep with his head on Miyuki’s shoulder, and it pains his heart to shake the boy awake and tell him that they have to leave when it gets too late.
♪❀
It’s three days before solo and ensemble when disaster strikes.
Sawamura came in that afternoon with incredibly sloppy playing, missing easy notes and wincing whenever a particularly fast-paced rhythm came up. When Miyuki looked over at Kuramochi for any possible answers, the latter shrugged in bewilderment.
“Sawamura,” Miyuki says, stopping their practice midway. Sawamura immediately tenses up at the call of his name, looking over at him tentatively.
“Did I mess up on a part? I know it’s tough, I’ve just been having a bit of trouble lately…! I know solo and ensemble are coming up, but I can get it down, I promise! I’m just-”
“Okay, stop. Stop making excuses, and let me see your hand.” Sawamura hesitates, and Miyuki can feel his anger rising. He’d better not be trying to hide an injury, and he’d especially better not be trying to practice with it.
“Give me your hand. Now.”
The room is silent as they watch Sawamura slowly stretch out his arm, tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. He places it in Miyuki’s outstretched hand and hisses in pain when he prods at the fingers.
“How often are you practicing?”
Sawamura laughs anxiously and scratches the back of his head. “Oh, not for very long! Just for… a few hours… after practice…” He trails off when he notices the stern look Miyuki’s giving him, a far cry from the typical soft, gooey look he normally has.
Miyuki knows he’s being irrationally angry at this point, but he can’t help the growing feeling of inadequacy on his end. Were his teachings and advice not enough for Sawamura to grow to the level he wants to be at? Did Miyuki fail as a tutor because he was so blinded by his infatuation that he couldn’t focus on what truly mattered? Was Miyuki himself not enough?
When Sawamura notices Miyuki’s hands are starting to tremble, he uses his other hand to gently touch him, bringing him out of his anxious stupor. Miyuki looks at Sawamura’s face, twisted with worry more for him than for himself. He lets go of Sawamura’s hand, and it drops to his side like a weight.
“You’re straining your fingers from practicing too much,” Miyuki says. He grabs Sawamura’s face, bringing them closer together until they’re only a couple centimeters apart.
Sawamura’s breath hitches, and his lips part ever-so-slightly. Miyuki could absolutely kiss him right then and there, with how close their faces are and how tempting he manages to look, even with a fearful expression.
He brushes this feeling off, however. He’s been neglectful enough. Miyuki’s allowed his feelings to take away from the task at hand, and his ignorance has resulted in Sawamura’s over-practicing. There is absolutely no way Miyuki is going to let another mistake like this slip by him.
When their faces are mere centimeters apart, he notices that Sawamura’s lips are slightly swollen and redder than they usually are.
He lets go of Sawamura’s face, and he backs up against the wall in stunned silence. Miyuki leans over to the music stand, grabs the sheet music, and pulls the mouthpiece off of his instrument.
“You’re not practicing anymore today. Get some rest and come back on top of your game. You can still stay and watch to make sure you don’t miss anything important, but there will be absolutely no playing today. Got it?”
“...Got it.”
The other three members, who are standing on the other side of the room watching them with bated breaths, let out sighs of relief. Nabe smiles at Sawamura sympathetically, who’s sulking in the corner of the room and cradling his pained fingers.
The rest of practice feels empty without Sawamura’s boundless energy, and their music reflects it. Miyuki calls off the practice after a few reruns, staying behind to give Sawamura tips on how to properly rest his hands after long hours practicing.
“...I’m sorry,” is the first thing Sawamura says after everyone has left. He’s staring at the floor and crinkling his sheet music with how hard his other hand is gripping the papers in frustration. Miyuki sighs. Maybe he was a bit too hard on him, especially when this was a direct result of his own mistake.
“Don’t be,” is the best thing Miyuki can say. “Learn from this and grow as a player. You’re talented, Sawamura. Don’t let over-practicing be your downfall.”
Sawamura gives him a weary smile. Before Miyuki can say any more, he reaches into his bag, pulling out a… raccoon phone charm?
“I saw you eyeing my charm the other day,” Sawamura explains when Miyuki gives him a bewildered expression. “So, I got one for you. Sorry about the bad timing, I was waiting to give it to you all day.”
All day.
He was waiting to give it to him. All day.
Oh, how could Miyuki have been blessed with a soul as kind as Sawamura’s?
He pulls Sawamura in close, wrapping him in his arms and resting his chin on his shoulder. Sawamura tenses at first, then finally relaxes as Miyuki holds him. The two of them bask in each other’s comfort for a while, heartbeats and breaths shared, and Miyuki traitorously wants nothing more but to press his lips against Sawamura’s.
He’s learned from his lapse in judgment, though, and he resolves himself that this is okay.
Except it isn’t, and Miyuki hates how all he does is yearn.
♪❀
Sawamura’s hand heals enough for him to play without too much discomfort, and the last two days are spent making final adjustments and tweaks.
It’s as close to perfection as it’s going to get.
(And, Miyuki’s phone notably has a new raccoon charm dangling from it.)
♪❀
Inashiro is packed to the brim with students. It’s a struggle to find a spot anywhere for their group, and the chaotic atmosphere doesn’t make it any easier for them. They’ve secured themselves a fairly safe spot in the lineup— not too far in the back of the line and not the first ones either.
And if there’s one thing Miyuki notices immediately in the hustle and bustle of competition, it’s how jittery Sawamura looks.
It’s not surprising for a first-year to be nervous about their first competition, especially one as big as this year’s. Miyuki, Kuramochi, and Nabe were all the same way in their first years.
However, a small part of Miyuki still worries for him.
Sawamura is uncharacteristically quiet, chewing on his bottom lip and twiddling his thumbs while staring down at the table they’re sitting at while they wait for their lineup. When the number right before their lineup is called, he immediately tenses, mimicking the fingering movements with his hands by drumming them on the table.
His tense energy is starting to influence the other members, too, and Miyuki decides that Oh, no, this will not do.
“Sawamura, can you come with me for a second? I wanted to ask about something.”
At the sound of his name, he immediately looks up. He’s wide-eyed and clearly trying his best to keep it together, but to no avail. Miyuki nods at him encouragingly, and Sawamura gets up from his seat at the table and follows him down one of the more secluded hallways.
They find a dark, empty classroom, and Miyuki leaves the door just slightly ajar just in case someone accidentally locks them in. The air is still, Sawamura is tense when Miyuki faces him.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, sir! Everything is going fine! Everything will be fine! I’m fine!”
“...You sure?”
“Yes. Maybe. Not really… No.” Sawamura averts his gaze. “I’m just worried I’ll mess things up for everyone again. You’ve entrusted me with the important solo part! My performance will make or break us! All eyes are on me! I’ve got to pull this off perfectly! And… and… I guess I’m just worried I’ll crack under the pressure. I don’t want to disappoint you again.”
Miyuki blinks, at a loss for words. He’s not great at comforting people, but something tells him that it’s what Sawamura needs the most right now. He places his hands on Sawamura’s shoulders and tilts his head to stare at him. Sawamura’s eyes are locked on his own now, with tears gathered at the corner of his eyes. Wiping them away, Miyuki steadies his gaze and smiles reassuringly.
“You’ve never disappointed me, Sawamura. You’ve always exceeded my expectations. I’ve watched you grow and improve considerably since the very first day we’ve met, and not once have I ever regretted meeting and playing alongside you.”
Sawamura is quiet again, and Miyuki takes it as a sign to keep talking.
“Don’t sell yourself short. You can do the solo part with your eyes closed at this point. We’re all your ensemble members, and you aren’t playing alone. We’re a team, and we play together. Yeah?”
“...Yeah.”
Miyuki smiles. “Good…Good. I’ll see you outside, Sawamura.”
“Wait!” Sawamura calls as Miyuki turns to leave. A hand abruptly swings him around to face Sawamura again, who’s grinning again with that brilliantly warm smile of his.
He places both of his hands on Miyuki’s cheeks the same way he did when consoling him, pulls him down, and presses a kiss to his lips.
Miyuki’s brain overrides and blanks at the same time.
It’s like fireworks and sirens and alarms are going off simultaneously, because Sawamura’s lips are so, so warm, and Miyuki’s heart is beating so fast, and the light of the cracked door illuminates Sawamura’s face so beautifully, and his hands are finally, finally combed through his soft locks, pulling him as close as humanly possible, and oh god it’s just so much at once.
He doesn’t ever want to let go.
Damn his earlier resolve to squash down his feelings, damn it all! Nothing matters anymore but the press of Sawamura’s lips and the pull of his body towards his own, their breaths and pounding heartbeats shared. Miyuki cradles Sawamura’s head and places his other hand on his waist, and he leads Sawamura to a desk and knocks stray pencils and pens to the floor as he leans him against the wall.
It’s Sawamura who finally pulls away first, breathless and beaming. “Thank you, Miyuki Kazuya,” he says, before disappearing into the light of the hallway, leaving Miyuki completely speechless in the darkness of the empty classroom. The two of them probably look ridiculous, with swollen red lips that clearly allude to frantic kisses and tight embraces, but Miyuki can’t find it in himself to care.
“...Hah. Ahahah.”
And he can’t help but laugh at how utterly ridiculous his life has seemed to be ever since he’s met the hurricane that is Sawamura Eijun. There’s no way he can quell the intense pounding of his heart, the high that his head is buzzed on now that he’s been kissed by probably the love of his life.
It’s just ridiculous.
After staying in the room for a couple more minutes to clear his head, he hears his group number for the lineup being called distantly, and he rushes outside to rejoin his groupmates.
♪❀
♪❀
Sawamura is flawless, performing with all of his radiant glory and energy and bringing their piece to levels Miyuki could only dream of. He glows with mirth once he finishes the solo, and the group connects what Sawamura has pitched to them.
They’ve all grown incredibly since the very first day Miyuki’s worked alongside them, and that in itself gives him an extreme sense of pride. Kuramochi’s tempo keeps with everyone well, and Nabe plays with a confidence that resonates in his notes and with the music. Furuya’s overall control has improved immensely since the day he’s started working with them, and his strong notes are as powerful as ever now that he knows how to control his breath.
And Sawamura. The boy had a natural talent for playing that was waiting to be unlocked. When Miyuki had forged for them the key and opened the vault, the sheer amount of potential and improvement that continued to pour out of him was immeasurable.
When the judges give them glowing feedback in return, Miyuki feels that their hard work has all been validated, and he smiles with pride.
While they’re leaving the room to head back to the cafeteria where Director Kataoka is waiting for them, Miyuki feels a gentle touch of fingers on his own. He laces his fingers with Sawamura’s and they exchange giddy grins.
Ah, surely nothing could beat this feeling.
They stay until the judges are finished and the results are announced, and the pure euphoria Miyuki feels when their ensemble is awarded with one of the highest possible scores is indescribable.
He pulls Sawamura up to hug him, cheering while Sawamura wraps his arms around him and smiles with tears in his eyes.
“There’s no need to cry,” Miyuki says, brushing away the tears with his thumbs.
“We’ve done it! We’ve really, truly done it!”
“Yes, we did,” he affirms. He pulls Sawamura’s head closer to his, smiling when their foreheads bump together and their hair mixes in strands of chestnut and chocolate.
“And I’ve yet to do this properly,” he says, planting a kiss onto Sawamura through his grin. Sawamura grabs Miyuki’s face to pull him closer, breaking the kiss only to press two kisses onto his face, one for each cheek.
“Took you long enough, Miyuki Kazuya!”
♪❀
