A/N: When you’re writing for a character who likes to read, and you decide to give them your reading taste, and all the dramatics you held at 17 when you were a baby queer and in love. Or in other words, a sasamiya fic featuring some queer greek references and love being stored in talking about stories and sharing common interests.
Summary
He hadn’t decided if it was a good thing—a terrible thing, none of the above, either or, a bit of both, some of the self-doubt inside his gut—as soon as Sasaki tipped his head. Beyond the awning catching drops. Or when he stayed there in the evening shower, like his eyesight couldn’t be trusted. Turning faucets out of his hair, a stray of droplets wet his collar. Or when he dipped back, hardly shaking. Peering loosely through his bangs. With a slanted, neon smile that would taste of cherries from his chapstick. When a clever, not clever, but a genius little suggestion, burned the outside of his cheeks in a rosy span of freckles. And Miyano listened to the paint by numbers with all the diligence it deserved. And couldn’t help it if he crinkled, torn to fondness and in laughter.
Of them running through the downpour with all their reckless abandonment. With nothing else but each other. Sasaki’s jacket on his shoulders. Because he wants to. There’s no argument if it’s sort of stupid or any trouble. Because it’s none of that—in Sasaki’s mind. It’ll beat waiting here until the strike of midnight. And Miyano is anything, but a little hesitant, when he says he’ll carry their bags to keep them dry.
