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The first time Kento heard Ayane laugh, he thought it sounded uncharacteristically soft, a bit too subdued for what he'd expected of her. Back then, he only had eyes for Sawako, and her awkward smile. He could see, even then, why Ayane was so popular, but he had no interest in adding to the mass of air-headed boys chasing after her.
Yet, every time he heard it after that, he thought it sounded increasingly sweeter, softer. He liked it. He wanted to hear it all the time— he felt every bit like her previous boyfriends, eighty percent infatuation, twenty percent sense. Really, he thought it would only wane more, leaning against the infatuation side of things.
She was beautiful.
He felt like she raced around his head constantly, bouncing around with every quick remark and well-mannered giggle. He couldn't quite tell if she was keeping up or running circles around him. It was exhilarating, to have someone not to taunt, but to play with. Even ground.
He still remembered, a distant memory, how she'd cried about how her past boyfriends always used her. She wasn't someone to fall in love with— she wasn't like her friends . He'd stayed quiet then, because all he could think about was how absolutely everybody wanted her, and how he didn't even know her at all.
He stayed quiet, because there was nothing to say.
Maybe he was jealous.
After that, he'd taken to teasing her, following her around like some sort of kicked puppy— he knew how stupid he looked from the outside, how silly he must've seemed to everyone else.
Or maybe. Maybe it was something else entirely. Maybe he looked exactly like Mogi, shallow, and direct, and with no thought process past his own personal interest.
He didn't think it mattered, anyway. He knew for sure that if he were to ask her out, Ayane would say yes; it wouldn't matter what he looked like or who thought what, because to her core, the girl was a people pleaser— flattery, he knew, was as close to connection as she thought herself able to achieve.
It was depressing both to watch, and to try to get through to her. He didn't want anything but a genuine shot. Not to be pleased, or catered to, but to be given a chance. To prove himself, maybe. To prove something to her . He didn't quite know what it was, but no matter how many times he tripped over his own feet in his desperate effort to always be two steps behind her, fawning as he did, he found he didn't want her to go out with him the way she'd gone out with Mogi.
The last time he'd said that aloud he'd been called stupid. And really, it was a bit stupid when he thought about it too hard, because why would he waste his chance with Ayane, if she were to give it to him? It felt naive, unrealistic, to hope for some amazing romantic miracle, in which she'd fall for him, in an unlikely moment of genuine sentiment. That she'd want him more than she'd want to give him what he wanted.
Really, he thought, he should ask her out as soon as possible— she'd say yes. He knew she'd say yes.
In the end, he couldn't bring himself to do it right when he wanted to. Not like he did with his previous girlfriends. Not like he'd suggested to Sawako. He was stupid in his romanticism, he thought. It was obvious he liked her, everyone knew .
Yet the way she'd looked at him back in the hallway, sincere and full of a melancholy he couldn't quite place, you don't have to feel sorry for me , she'd smiled, like she was apologizing. It was all too much. There were a thousand thoughts racing through his head, every single one about her, and not a single one leaving his mouth.
It was all way too much.
So he kept his mouth shut, and waited for the time to be right.
At the very least, he thought, he wanted her to know. Not for him, but for herself. She deserved to know.
For the time being, he ran up to her as she passed him in the hall, feeling every bit like the kicked puppy he must've looked like. If someone had taken a picture then, he thought he would've looked adoring . But Ayane was fun, and she was sweet, and he kept him on his toes— every word out of her mouth felt like a new side of her he'd been entrusted with, somehow.
It felt important, waiting. A sort of respect he hadn't thought too much about before— a self-awareness he'd definitely never been known to possess, being how he was. Kento Miura was words first, consequences later. There was no point in staying quiet, in not calling it like he saw it. All it did was lose time; there was no way to get what he wanted.
Alas, love made him stupid, and Ayane made him giddy, the nervous sort of energy that made him feel like he was always on a high around her. Sawako had described it as feeling like she was on fire, but he thought it was more like riding on a rollercoaster— fast, and fun with the feeling that if he extended his palm, just a little bit, he could touch the sky.
He didn't say any of that, when he finally caught up to her in the hallway.
Instead, he grinned, wide and achingly sincere. The way he didn't smile for anyone else. Because really, every smile might look the same, but they never felt the same. When she turned to look at him, a small twitch taking over her own lips, he thought that if he even tried to look neutral, his beam would come out twice as blinding.
“Hey, there, Ayane, heading to class?”
She hummed, nodding. “Yeah, and I can walk there perfectly fine by myself.”
These days, the jabs felt more like an inside joke than any real annoyance. He knew, because she always stepped closer to him, when he ran up. He knew because it was fun .
“Where are Chizuru, and Sadako, then?”
“ That, ” she grinned, sardonic, “sounds like none of your business, Kento.”
“Aw, don't be like that,” he laughed, reaching his arm down across from her, “I just worry for you, Ayane.”
He grabbed her bag, and, in one swift motion, it was hanging off his shoulder.
“Hey, you don't have to carry that for me, you know. It's not like it's heavy.”
He was winning this round, if the slight pout of her lips was anything to go by.
“I know,” he said, then, final blow , “but I want to.”
Then, after a moment of silence — thick, and entirely too genuine: “Plus, this way,” he gestured to the identical colors of the bag he was carrying and the pleated skirt she was wearing, “we match.”
After all, he was nothing if not obnoxious.
She huffed, like she was trying to suppress a laugh. “You’re gonna make me look like a Kento girl.”
He couldn't help but notice she didn't sound too upset about that. It made his heart flutter in his chest, in the cheesy, shoujo manga way.
“Aw, would that be so bad?” He teased, swinging forward, if only to get a closer look of her eyes. He thought they were so big, he could look at them forever, and still not get to memorize every sparkle in them.
God, the stupid shit she made him think .
Then, because he was feeling foolish, he added, “I mean, I wouldn't mind being an Ayane boy.”
She wrinkled her nose, looking shocked in her distaste, but he noticed he couldn't help but laugh, the loud, ugly kind that she didn't hold her hand up to cover. “That's the worst thing you've ever said.”
He was definitely winning.
“Has anyone ever told you you're mean, Ayane?” Again, the words had no bite to them.
Again, when she laughed, he thought he couldn't wait for the time to be right.
Then, it felt like an entire melody pushed in a few seconds, rushed into the way her eyes crinkled slightly shut, and her voice jumped up and down like notes in a symphony; he thought not even the best composers would be able to cramp something as light, and sweet, in even a hundred years' time.
He didn't say anything— chattered all the way to class.
They'd get there.