The nights are quiet, the streetlights off at a reasonable hour and the entire street asleep at the same time. The mornings are quiet, no honking from traffic or screeching of metal from subways. The walks home are quiet, just twilight and the gentle chirps of cicadas. Even the school is quiet, compared to the much bigger, much busier school he went to in Tokyo before he blew up his entire life, got the man who raised him put in jail, ended up with a social worker on speed dial and an uncle he didn't know existed until last month.
The sights in Miyagi are beautiful, mountains and streams and trails and trees, things he didn't get in the city. The change of pace is good for inspiration, even if he's further away from where he needs to be to really make it in the art world. But it's quiet. Unsettingly quiet.
There was some buzz around him when he arrived, the transfer kid from the city someone swore they saw on the news a while back, but Yusuke shies away from the attention. He's polite, but not outgoing, the gossips lose their interest after a couple weeks, and from there, Yusuke is back to where he's always been - alone and observing others from afar.
It's in his yearning for the noise of the city that he follows a group of giggling girls into the gymnasium after school. They're oohing and ahhing over one of the volleyball players - he's aware that this school has a good team, from checking out the school's trophy case, but he never had much interest in sports, himself. The passion it takes to truly succeed at it is admirable, so he certainly doesn't look down on such pursuits, it's just that his own passion and talent is elsewhere. He's an artist...and athletes make for good anatomical studies.
Yusuke sits in the front row of the stands, the very corner seat above where the manager sits, looking down on the volleyball practice for a minute before taking a sketchbook from his bag. The girls are cheering for Oikawa-san, and it's not hard to guess why. He's tall, attractive, appears to be skilled (although Yusuke's knowledge of the game starts and stops with don't let the ball touch the ground), and...one of his teammates is yelling at him. Yusuke can't tell what it's about, but he finds the idea of the team captain getting scolded amusing.
The boy doing the yelling is in Yusuke's class, he's pretty sure, but he can't recall his name. Iwa-something. Regardless, he reminds him of someone he knew, back in Tokyo, a jock with spiked hair who wasn't afraid to let you know if something was on his mind. He draws that boy for the duration of the practice, at least half a dozen times, until they're calling it quits for the day and Yusuke leans over the railing for one last look at him and...drops his sketchbook onto the gym floor, not just revealing who exactly has captured his attention for the last few hours, but creasing the page that was in progress.
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The nights are quiet, the streetlights off at a reasonable hour and the entire street asleep at the same time. The mornings are quiet, no honking from traffic or screeching of metal from subways. The walks home are quiet, just twilight and the gentle chirps of cicadas. Even the school is quiet, compared to the much bigger, much busier school he went to in Tokyo before he blew up his entire life, got the man who raised him put in jail, ended up with a social worker on speed dial and an uncle he didn't know existed until last month.
The sights in Miyagi are beautiful, mountains and streams and trails and trees, things he didn't get in the city. The change of pace is good for inspiration, even if he's further away from where he needs to be to really make it in the art world. But it's quiet. Unsettingly quiet.
There was some buzz around him when he arrived, the transfer kid from the city someone swore they saw on the news a while back, but Yusuke shies away from the attention. He's polite, but not outgoing, the gossips lose their interest after a couple weeks, and from there, Yusuke is back to where he's always been - alone and observing others from afar.
It's in his yearning for the noise of the city that he follows a group of giggling girls into the gymnasium after school. They're oohing and ahhing over one of the volleyball players - he's aware that this school has a good team, from checking out the school's trophy case, but he never had much interest in sports, himself. The passion it takes to truly succeed at it is admirable, so he certainly doesn't look down on such pursuits, it's just that his own passion and talent is elsewhere. He's an artist...and athletes make for good anatomical studies.
Yusuke sits in the front row of the stands, the very corner seat above where the manager sits, looking down on the volleyball practice for a minute before taking a sketchbook from his bag. The girls are cheering for Oikawa-san, and it's not hard to guess why. He's tall, attractive, appears to be skilled (although Yusuke's knowledge of the game starts and stops with don't let the ball touch the ground), and...one of his teammates is yelling at him. Yusuke can't tell what it's about, but he finds the idea of the team captain getting scolded amusing.
The boy doing the yelling is in Yusuke's class, he's pretty sure, but he can't recall his name. Iwa-something. Regardless, he reminds him of someone he knew, back in Tokyo, a jock with spiked hair who wasn't afraid to let you know if something was on his mind. He draws that boy for the duration of the practice, at least half a dozen times, until they're calling it quits for the day and Yusuke leans over the railing for one last look at him and...drops his sketchbook onto the gym floor, not just revealing who exactly has captured his attention for the last few hours, but creasing the page that was in progress.
Mortifying. ]