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The best part of his day arrives before the sun even wakes up yet.
Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Sasaki rushes down the subway platform, pushing his way through the crowd with little cries of pardon me and sorry ‘bout that. He’s overslept a little, like usual, the siren song of the snooze button too alluring for him to ignore. Even as sleep weighs heavy on his eyelids, he pushes forward towards the train, pulling into the station with a grating screech that sounds like music to his ears.
When he finally bursts through the doors, panting, he spots him, and it’s like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.
Miyano is curled up in his usual spot, flipping through the pages of a manga, something faraway in his eyes. He furrows his brows in focus, flicking back a few pages to reread, and Sasaki’s heart twists in his chest because god, he’s just so damn adorable.
“Hey, Miya,” he says, raising a hand and plopping down into the seat next to him. “Whatcha up to?”
“Oh!” Miyano says in that caught-off-guard expression of his, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. “You startled me, sorry.” He shifts his bag to the opposite shoulder, so their arms are almost brushing, with no barrier in between them. “Just a manga I bought the other day. It’s the new one from the series I lent you last week, remember?”
“Ah, yeah,” Sasaki says, rubbing the back of his neck. “That one was pretty dope. I almost forgot it was a BL until that kissing scene at the end.” He chuckles. “Kinda steamy.”
Miyano slouches forward and buries his head in his hands, a pink flush creeping across his cheeks. “You can’t say that in public, Sasaki,” he whispers. “People are going to get the wrong idea.”
“Is it the wrong idea, though?” Sasaki’s voice murmurs low in his throat. He swallows hard, eyes still fixed on Miyano.
He rises, body tensed, shoulders rising and falling, and averts his gaze to the floor. “What– what do you mean?”
The train rattles on, past the Yokohama streets, where the city revives itself from its slumber, lights flickering in anticipation of the day ahead. The skyline rushes by, strengthening its pace, picking up speed until the buildings blur together into a smudge of gray on the horizon.
“I think you know what I mean, Miya.”
His face darkens, the corners of his mouth twitching downwards. He tugs at the collar of his uniform, adjusting it into alignment so it sits straight. Clean. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Miya.” Sasaki’s arm darts out, catching his wrist in his hand. His fingers are long enough to wrap around Miyano’s thin wrist, and they print white stripes into his skin. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. It’s okay if this isn’t what you want. But please,” he says, “please don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Because I can’t take this pretending anymore.”
Miyano freezes in his grasp, breathing heavily now, cheeks still blazing. His hair has flopped down into his eyes, and Sasaki wants to reach out and brush it back from his forehead. He wants to pull him onto his lap right here on this stupid train and wrap his arms around him and bury his face into the crook of his neck. He wants to take him away from everything, from the laughing jeers and watchful eyes of the boys at school. He wants to say screw it and kiss him in the school hallway, with everyone watching, and cuss out anyone who has a single word to say about it. He wants Miyano to be his. And more than anything, he wants to be Miyano’s.
“It’s not that easy, Sasaki,” Miyano mumbles. “It’s— you know this isn’t the way things are supposed to be.”
“Why?” Sasaki says, and releases his wrist, taking his hand into his own and squeezing tightly. Miyano’s touch reverberates against his skin, trembling at the fingertips. “Who said that? Your parents? The stupid kids at school? They don’t know us, Miya. They don’t know anything about us.”
“People would talk about you,” Miyano says, palms clammy in Sasaki’s grip. “People would make fun of you for being with somebody like— somebody like me.”
“Somebody like you?” Sasaki says. He wraps his other hand around Miyano’s, rubbing his thumb in slow circles across his skin. “Somebody who puts everyone around him first? Somebody who’s constantly going out of his way to help strangers?” Miyano softens into his touch, and he tightens his hold. “Somebody who lends me the coolest manga and CDs? Somebody who believes in me and makes me feel like I can do anything? Somebody who leaves class to walk me home, even when I’m sick and sniveling all over the place, just to make sure I get there safe?”
Miyano bites his lip, barely containing the smile that peeks through. “It’s no big deal, really, I was just trying to—”
“Is that what you meant? Somebody like you?”
Miyano’s smiling now, even though his face is still scorched red-hot, and it’s so bright that Sasaki wants to live in it, wants to bask in its glow forever. “I just don’t want you to get made fun of, is all,” he says, and the smile falls.
Sasaki drops the hand he was holding, and it falls into his lap, draping itself across his thigh. “With all due respect, Miya,” he says, cupping the side of his jaw and forcing him to meet his gaze. “I couldn’t care less about what anybody else thinks. I just care about you.”
Miyano nods, and something heavy and achy stirs in Sasaki’s chest. He cranes his neck to bend to Miyano’s level and slowly, slowly, brings his lips to frisk his ear. “Is this okay?” he whispers, and Miyano nudges closer to him.
“Mmhm,” he says, voice wavering.
Sasaki presses his lips to his forehead, gossamer-light, like he’s afraid that he’ll shatter in his hold. Miyano’s eyes flutter closed, long eyelashes fanning out underneath. Sasaki can’t tear his eyes away, because he’s so pretty , and he looks so peaceful, and his cheek feels so warm where his fingers are splayed across it. He wants to press kisses on his jaw, his eyelids, his nose, the patch of skin behind his ear, but for now he keeps his kiss planted on Miyano’s forehead, pulling him closer to him.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he says when he draws away. “I’ll always be right there with you. For as long as you need me to.”
Miyano’s eyes gleam, and he beams back at Sasaki, concealing his smile with one hand.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing,” he says. “You’re just… so freakin’ cool, Sasaki.”
He bursts into laughter, high peals that ricochet off the train’s metal interior. “Not as cool as you, Miya. Trust me.”
The train grinds to a halt at the high school’s station, and the doors slide open with a groan as sunlight pours in through the gap. “Ready?” Sasaki says.
He stands, adjusting his backpack onto his shoulders, and makes to leave when Miyano tugs sharply on his hand, intertwining his fingers with his.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m ready.”
With Sasaki’s hand in his, Miyano leads the way forward.