Chapter Text
He was beautiful. Not beautiful in the way a really pretty girl might be, not quite. Clearly a dude, with a nice, sharp jawline and broad shoulders, but a lithe frame and soft, thick hair. In a way, Sasaki was a bit envious. Not to say he didn’t like his own looks– Sasaki was handsome, and he knew it to a healthy extent. But there was a certain grace in the way that boy moved, in how his ever-present pencil and sketchbook reminded Sasaki of a figure skater on a crystalline sheet of ice. How even a sweatshirt and those beat-up high top sneakers looked like a flowing chiffon ball gown, but only when worn by him. Sasaki’s own attractiveness was in his height and build– just a 6”1 block of football-player muscle with a pretty face and the charm of a playful dog. This boy was so, so much different.
If Sasaki wasn’t absolutely enamored, Miyano wasn’t an artist. That is to say, the guy had at least three gold-medal pieces to his name, all displayed proudly in places around campus, which was how Sasaki even knew his name. He’d passed that lake by the Arts & Humanities building, –the one with all the lilies and moss– on the way to class once, and seen Miyano frustratedly telling his classmate model to “hold still, Kuresawa– if you can’t hold the pose long enough for me to sketch it, I’ll go get Hirano.”
The man he was chiding said something about needing to reply to his girlfriend, at which Miyano simply grumbled and rolled his hazel eyes.
The painting Sasaki had seen in its pupal stage now sat in a glass case, displayed like a butterfly in a cruel collector’s frame. Signed, in handwriting just as fluttery, Miyano Yoshikazu.
Sasaki thanked the gods the day it rained, the day Miyano and he were caught in the shelter of a bus stop as the weather beat a gentle rhythm on the plastic roof. The day Miyano smiled at him, said “Well, that came out of nowhere,” starting their first conversation.
Sasaki made sure not to let his fluster show on his face.
“Right? N’ the weather app even said it’d be clear ‘till Saturday.”
Miyano absently picked at his phone case as he replied, “Sometimes I think the people at the weather station lie on the apps and the news just to see who they can catch without an umbrella.”
“That’s quite the conspiracy theory,” Sasaki said, a smile creeping onto his lips.
Miyano laughed, a soft, airy thing; Sasaki’s heart slammed into his ribcage. “Ah, well. Sometimes making up little stories to put behind unfortunate happenings makes those things a bit more fun.”
Sasaki grinned. “I think I may have heard the Greeks say that back in 325 BC.”
“The Greeks must’ve been onto something.”
Sasaki exchanged words with Miyano with such ease that the two ended up talking long after the rain let up– and even when Miyano bashfully remarked about the sudden clarity of the sky, they talked even longer, and longer, until finally–
“Hey, do you mind if I give you my number?” Sasaki asked. Miyano blinked, processing, and Sasaki quickly added: “Ah, I just mean, like, since campus is really big, and I’m having a really nice time talking with you, and, you know, I wanna make sure I can meet you again.”
Miyano’s bright eyes still stared into Sasaki’s, now starting to crinkle at the corners in a small smile. Sasaki couldn’t breathe.
“That is, uh. Only if you want,” he finished, Miyano’s little staring contest starting to redden his face. Those eyes were– he was– just too beautiful.
Miyano giggled, finally, breaking their eye contact to dig for his phone. “Of course!” he chirped. “I’m having fun too.”
“Oh, hey, what’s your name?” Miyano asked after a beat of silence while Sasaki tapped digits into a brand-new contact on Miyano’s phone.
It’d just now occurred to Sasaki that through the duration of their whole conversation he’d known Miyano’s personal and family name, but the artist himself had been chatting to This Redhead Guy I’m Trapped With .
“Sasaki Shuumei,” he said, just a tad too quickly.
“Ooh, pretty,” Miyano said, now examining the kanji on his screen. He looked up, handing Sasaki’s own phone back to him. “I’m Miyano Yoshikazu.”
Sasaki bit his tongue before he could say “I know”. Instead, he said, “That’s a really nice name.”
Miyano smiled brightly. “Thank you!” he said, and Sasaki suddenly was hyper-aware of the fact that he was probably in love with this guy.
It was with great stumbling and even greater embarrassment as Miyano’s bubbly laughter filled the gaps in his speech that Sasaki found out Miyano took the same train home as he did, and soon enough the two men were walking side-by-side to the station, steps calculatedly slow as they both silently yearned for just a few more minutes of company.
By the time Sasaki waved Miyano goodbye as the train doors closed, his heart was about ready to burst. He’d learned a substantial amount of Basic Friend Information about Miyano, like how his favorite color was green, but only the shade that looked like matcha with just a tiny drop more blue; He read a lot of shoujo manga (he’d turned such a cute shade of raspberry pink when he said this, Sasaki felt a bit like he’d escaped death when the subject changed); He loved art, but was actually just as into music; He liked spicy food, hated sweet food since it upset his stomach, and was afraid of giraffes due to an unfortunate (now laughable) event at the zoo when he was younger. Miyano even told Sasaki about his mother– that she was a great mom, maybe a bit too prone to teasing him, but still kind and warm (Miyano’s expression as he talked openly presented every fond memory of her clear as day, his eyes softening like pools of melted chocolate).
Miyano’s image in Sasaki’s brain was now so much more than just beautiful. He knew his smile, now, knew that there was a mole under his left eye, and that he was kind, funny, snarky, charismatic. Smart. Shorter than Sasaki, with a voice as sweet as honey…
God, he’d have to find out what time Miyano got on the train in the mornings. He needed to see that face again.