[ Moving to Tokyo after living in a relatively small town his entire life comes with a learning curve. For one, no stripping down to jammers at the slightest sign of water—not that it's acceptable in Iwatobi either, but it's certainly worse in a big city where everyone doesn't recognize him. Secondly, the entrance fee for the local baths is double what it is back home. Thirdly, the trains are hot and sticky and crowded during the summer in a way he might never get used to.
And somewhere down the list, there's the sheer number of people that attend Hidaka. Haru doesn't venture outside their department much, more keen to focus on his studies and practice, but Iwatobi High had always been cozy. It's part of why it'd been so easy to imagine staying his whole life right where he was, swimming for leisure and floating along otherwise. It did make things difficult when it came to club recruitment, but for everything else... there was comfort in being unremarkable. A relative unknown. Friendly enough standing with his classmates, without drawing too much of their attention.
Holding an opened envelope—its edges neatly bound with decorative washi tape, sealed with a heart-shaped sticker, now peeled up at a corner—he's belatedly living out some strange high school drama, and doesn't know how to feel about it.
He's distracted enough that he hardly hears Makoto come into the locker room, even though he'd agreed to come help Haru keep track of his times today. After a distracted blink, he looks over in greeting, not bothering to get embarrassed and scramble to put the letter away. Why would he? He's not the type, for one, but also it's Makoto—he rarely takes the effort to hide anything from him. ]
[ From his class to Haruās practice, Makotoās journey is filled with an excited slew of messages from Nagisa, catching up as usual and sharing in their enthusiasm. Pictures and greetings, he smiles as he gets them, thinking ahead to the moment he sees Haru again and shows him their old, thriving club. A chance to catch a rare, but not unusual smile from Haru. It makes the journey fast. Before he knows it, heās pushing his back against the lock room doors and messaging Nagisa: āIāll let him know you said hi ^^ā
Itās unusual for Makoto not to announce himself and itās not only as Makoto rounds the corner of the lockers that he finally looks up. He grins, his head tilting, ] Hey, Haru. [ Even just to say his name, he seems happy. He sets his bag down near his friend. ]
Ah, for now. Some reading tonight that shouldnāt take long. [ He sits longways on the bench near Haru, a leg folded in front of him, facing his friend as he eyes the letter in hand. ] A note?
[ Haru's not the type to wander around all wound up like a rubber band ball of nerves, but there's still a microscopic ease in his shoulders when Makoto swings over, happy to have this particular distraction. It'd be enough to push the letter out of his mind entirely to focus on his current company and swimming.
But it's an understandable curiosity. ]
For me.
[ He flips it so Makoto can see the neat curl of handwriting there: Nanase ]
From one of the girls in my last class.
[ Not someone he knows terribly well, but perfectly nice. They'd exchanged notes a few times. A relationship he'd assumed was as ordinary as any other in Iwatobi. ]
[ For him? Just before the note flips, he registers the heart sticker over the opening, gone in an instant as Haru reveals the facts of it. A little frown tugs at Makoto's lips as he listens to his friend, seeming thoughtful. His hand reflexively reaches up, an inch of movement at most as curiosity takes grip on him.
But- he thinks better of it. His fingers twitch, shifting his whole posture to fold his arms over his chest, hands locked into his armpits. ] I see... [ Can he actually resist his own curiosity? His eyes fixated on the nice handwriting, bordered carefully in tape. It's... perfect, in a way. Cute. ] A girl, huh?
[ He watches Makoto a moment, noting the pensive shift in his expression without calling any attention to it. In the meantime, Haru carefully shuts his locker door without actually setting the lock, just idling about for a second before he sits across from Makoto. The letter goes still in his hands, without so much as a fidget. ]
...I gave it a glance.
[ Not to be callous—Haru has a great many flaws, individualistic and reserved, but he doesn't mean to be cold. This is just uncharted territory. He can trust Makoto to tell between awkwardness and frigidity. ]
She ran off before we could talk about it. [ While Haru stood there motionlessly, like an idiot, no doubt. ] I think she was embarrassed.
[ His head tilts as he listens. Of course, he knew his friend well enough to piece together the uncertainty; it felt no different than any other time. Not shy, but unsure; not cold, but simple. The familiar was... comfortable, and plainly, this was not either of those things. In a way, itās unfamiliar for Makoto, tooāsomething he never had to think or worry about. They rarely spoke of love or desire, but he remembers now and again Haru's first love: a waterfall. It's been a few years since then, perhaps becoming a man since then would change this about him? A scary question to consider, somehow.
But... Faced with the unfamiliar, Haru inevitably would grow. He's so much more than he was back then. Who was Makoto not to encourage Haru to face the unknown, even if something... didn't set right with him. What an odd time to feel a knot in his stomach.
He starts, as if to speak, and again, hesitates. He chuckles softly, his voice more quiet against the sharp echo of the locker room. He seems to have found his smile again. ] Embarrassed, huh? I think if sheās embarrassed she must like you quite a bit.
[ For as long as they've known each other, for as close as they are, it doesn't mean they talk about everything under the sun. But that's mostly because Haru's life singularly revolves around water. Even when it came to crushes and whatever—that still came back around to water?
Still, when he hasn't even discussed something with Makoto, you know it's dire straits. He frowns minutely. ]
We don't know each other well...
[ He trails off, unsure of why he's arguing the point at all. It's true that Haru's changed with time, in small, Haru-shaped increments. He's more sensitive now to other's feelings, whether it's from hurting Rin or Ikuya or even Makoto, despite his seemingly infinite patience. But that doesn't mean he knows how to tackle this gracefully. And he's not sure that explains the strange, itchy feeling he gets. It's aggravating to try and decipher its source; the frustration sits in his sigh, soft, drawing out into a little silence. ]
I didn't realize this was something people really did.
[ Hand off declarations of their crushes in cute notes behind school. But he's a little out of touch. ]
Eh? Really? [ He seems surprised that it's unfamiliar to Haru. ]
They do it in anime all the time... ah, I guess you probably don't watch as much. [ He'd like to say it's Ren and Ran's fault he would watch any anime, but let's be real, he's keeping it up in college pretty gladly. This would certainly be no secret to Haru, either. ] I think... [ He stares at the letter. ] Ah.. It's hard to explain.
It can be hard, admitting how you feel to someone. If they're not interested, to bare that rejection... a letter seems like an easy way to avoid that, no?
[ Makoto has normal human interests besides swimming, that's allowed. Meanwhile, Haru cants his head slightly as Makoto searches for an explanation, birdlike and alien in that way of his. Still, he's human, isn't he? After a contemplative pause, he nods. ]
I guess so.
[ Confessing feelings in general sounds tortuous, actually. Pulling teeth. He gently rolls up the envelope's sticker with his thumb. ]
...So they wouldn't expect a response? [ What is he even supposed to do? He actually has no idea if Makoto has much experience with this sort of thing either, which is a funny little realization. Just hilarious. He looks unamused, his typical non-expression turned ruminating. ]
[ Up for debate if Haru is a human or a mermaid borrowing legs. ]
[ How to answer... Makoto looks down at Haru fidgeting with the sticker. Whatever experience Makoto might have, it's not as if it meant anything here. Each person is different. Haru wasn't him; this woman was her own person as well. Someone who saw Haru and felt a chance at a connection. Catching the gaze of others seemed to be something Haru was always good at, whether he meant it or not. That Haru would get a letter now, especially after how much he'd grown.... it's not so surprising.
In Haru's shoes, he knows what he would say, for simple reasons. In her shoes, he knows what he would hope for. They sat at odds. His posture relaxes, humming as he deflates: ] Hm, well, it'd be rude to ignore her....
[ What he would hope for. He feels his brain locking up.
After too long a silence, he seems to return to the moment, a simper in his voice: ] Ah, but, you might still have fun, Haru. One date never hurt anyone, if she seems nice enough.
Maybe this makes some bizarre sense to Makoto, but Haru doesn't follow. The only draw he seems to have is in the pool—even when his classes are derivatives of that, related to sports and health, he doesn't expect this sort of attention outside of the water.
If anything, Makoto's the one who should be dealing with a stack of letters. Kind, personable, good with kids. Notably broad-shouldered. Isn't that what people like? Not weird, quiet guys who spend most of their lives in jammers. Before he can follow this spiral of thought, his brows hop up. ]
A date.
[ Okay. Well, yes, okay. Obviously this would incur either a rejection or a date—he'd known that, but it's strange to have it laid out in the binary. Yes or no. So incredibly simple. It doesn't feel that way at all. He draws in and folds up his leg so he can rest his chin on his knee, staring at Makoto. ]
She's nice. [ He confirms that easily enough. It's hard to label Haru's behavior with anyone outside of long-term friends as cordial, but they're polite together. Then he changes tack, a little abrupt, finding this a difficult subject to navigate, even with Makoto. (Maybe because it's Makoto.) ] I've never been on a date.
[ Hands wrapped together in front of him, Makoto eyes the little differences in his friendās expression and looks even harder at the change in posture. Heās not a mind reader, but after knowing Haru so long, heād guessā¦ uncomfortable? He frowns thoughtfully. Haru has surprised him in the past, but heās feeling pretty confident about it.
Heās happy to wait for Haru to turn the cogs regardless, offering a small, almost polite smile as Haru stares, and then a light laugh at the plain admission. ] Ahā¦ I would figure youād say that, Haru... [ He scratches his cheek.
Still, he feels bad. Haru was Haru. He changed the most where it mattered. Love, well... itās not that important. ] Itās okay if youād rather not, too, Haru. She... might be happier not getting her hopes up, anyway.
[ Uncomfortable is a good call. Not upset—maybe a little classically disinterested, at worst. But his jaw sets, the faintest furrow of his brow, there and gone again. ]
Yeah.
[ As blase as he seems about company, he doesn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. How long had that one incident with Rin followed him around? Guilt is an emotion that sits under his skin for ages, and he's keen to avoid... heartbreak? Feels dramatic for a classroom crush, but something like that.
He sighs, easing up on the tension again to sound tired, cheek scrunched under him from where he's rests it more heavily. He doesn't really think before he asks, ]
Unlike Haru, his nerves are immediately obvious. A glance away, his head turns to the side. His hand touches his mouth, subtly hiding his expression. Itās as if heās trying to feign thinking of his answer; but he probably already knows his answer. Hard to say heād doing it on purpose now, but there was always a tendency to mask the little troubles he had. Unfortunately, the question left him disarmed. ] Ah-ha, uhm... [ Why does giving this answer bother him so much? ]
I guess, from a girl, Iād probably have to say no, but...
[ The implication is there, but heās sure Haru wouldnāt think differently of him. Still, goosebumps tickle his warm shoulders. ] But, from the right guy, it seems sort of cute, doesn't it?
[ He looks on patiently, letting Makoto work through his jitters. For such a bulky guy, he can be remarkably timid, the truest example of a gentle giant.
But in this case, anyone might get a case of nerves. Haru's stare turns owlish, more curious than surprised; he'd never considered Makoto's taste in people before, yet it feels right. He agrees, easy. ]
...From the right guy, sure.
[ Naturally, Haru doesn't judge. If there's a strange, irksome feeling in his gut, it's not disdain—more like... protectiveness. He tries to convince himself it's protectiveness, anyway. The same sort he'd used to feel when they were younger and Kisumi would drape dramatically across Makoto's shoulders, and Haru wanted to swat him away like a particularly large, annoying pink gnat.
He'd gone still through Makoto's answer, but rolls his neck now, looking off at a locker in an effort to appear casual still. ]
Maybe you should write a letter. If you ever feel that way. [ Makoto's right in that it seems like a gentle way to go about things. ]
[ He misses that look, the owlish stare, too distracted with his own fluster. From the right guy, sure. He smiles, laughs; embarrassed, his shoulders rise to meet the occasion. He's unusually pink. He never doubted Haru, but to say the words, even implicitly, to him first of all people warms Makotoās heart. Haru truly was, is, and will always be his greatest friend. It seems whatever future would result from that letter, it wouldnāt matter. Between them nothing would change, and for that, Makoto couldnāt dare ask for more.
His nervous mood is tempered, but he still feels awash with warmth. Comfort. While Haru turns through his own thoughts, Makoto at last turns away, remembering himself and why he came this far in the first place. ]
Ah, maybe, [ he chuckles at the notion. He feels like Haru put him into a more giddy mood all at once. He pulls at the laces of his shoes. ] I think Iād be too afraid for anything to... ever change.
[ And carefully, he places his shoes and socks in the locker before pulling out his stopwatch proudly. It's bright green, just like him! ] So, Haru? Ready to do some time trials? [ He grins at his friend. ]
[ Makoto is his closest friend. And in many ways, his dearest one. A safe bastion in life's storms, and however many missteps and uncertainties he faces, he can never seem to say or do the wrong thing around Makoto. There's been stumbles, certainly. Haru's not without his difficult moments, moody as the sea. But as long as he's himself, the occasional wrinkle always seems to smooth back out, one way or another.
So despite how simple Haru's answer had been, it doesn't surprise him to hear that laugh, or to spot the contentment that bubbles through Makoto, light and buoyant. He's seen this any number of times before, across every stage of his life. And still, he watches for a moment too long; still, it's contagious, catching in him like a warmth that spreads pleasantly through his core.
It's the first time today he can put the letter out of his mind. ]
...Yeah.
[ Right, he did call him out here to practice. Swimming. He stretches out his arms briefly, like they've been sitting longer than they have, picking up the letter to stash it away safely. There's a tiny flutter of emotion he hasn't resolved, a shade tracking behind an otherwise illuminating conversation—I'd be too afraid for anything to change—but it settles for a time. He braces his hands on his knees to push himself up to his feet to head into the natatorium. He thinks of Makoto's happiness, bright as it was. Things are good. Nothing needs to change.
It doesn't fully reflect his thoughts, but he's honest as he sighs out, ]
I wonder if Haru will still feel that way once I get a handle on actual coaching! [ He laughs. It will take time to reach that moment, he knows. ]
[ Pouring over papers, burning the proverbial midnight oil, Makotoās desk has become full with his studies and the notes he had about Haruās practices, and itās only grown over time. Once a week, working with Haru at Hidaka, wasnāt much, but to have his studies contextualized with Haruās help made his many busy days that much more worthwhile. His dreams were... tangible. It seemed the most excited heād ever been about the future.
Yet, those hopes, that determination didnāt capture his mind like they normally would. Pouring over Haruās numbers for the third time this week, he questioned his own sense. As they left the locker room that day, their hearts felt balanced, but these time trials. Among them were some of Haruās best and worst times. He knew his friend well enough to realize how much Haruās swimming spoke to his feelings, but he wondered what inspired this oddity. He was sure it wasnāt his small confession, yet he wondered. ...From the right guy, sure.
In his personal relief, had he missed something Haru was trying to tell him?
He yawns before leaning his cheek into his wrist. His tired thoughts are scattered, seeing numbers, letters, the parallel of Haruās form beside a textbook diagram. That letterā¦ Heād never know its contents, but he recalls the beautiful way that unknown woman wrote Haruās name. Without thinking, his pencil scratches his friendās name down on the time sheet like a memory. Girls are funny, but he understands the feeling. A little heart just off é„ fits so perfectly within his name. Before he knows it, his eyes are closed, his mind is quiet. He dreams of sweet, cool water splashing against his lips. Ravensā wings brush his cheeks and arms. It's the most beautiful place heās never been. Heās had this dream before.
When morning arrives, the time of their originally scheduled brunch, Makoto has, unfortunately, failed to meet Haru at the bottom of his apartment complex. Heāll need to come up to fetch his friend instead who, fortunately, had given Haru access and a key to the apartment long before this. It certainly wasnāt like him to run late, but the poor young man had seemed more haggard lately, so just another in a series of university cramming. When Haru gets there, heāll find Makoto still fast asleep at his desk, his papers unmoved from where he had worked them the night before. ]
[ He huffs—he'd rather deal with Makoto coaching him than anyone else—but he's done enough naval-gazing. It's pool time.
When all else fails to clear his head, swimming will usually do the trick. The momentary muteness of the world, the quietude—he finds comfort in the distance of it, however shallow, like pulling the covers up over his head. But it's evasive maneuvers. The problems show in his times, erratically swinging between quite good and very useless. The same issues sit with him when he pulls himself up out of the pool, just waiting to be retrieved at the starting block, and when practice ends he's right back where he started.
Later, not much later, he carefully lets his classmate down. His words trail off more than once, but he's still clear in his disinterest to be more than friends. He's as gentle about it as he can manage, and she is apologetic and gracious, answering with embarrassed half-bows for troubling him as he assures her it's nothing like that. It's awkward. Yet somehow, there's no fallout. They part ways with stilted goodbyes, but by next class, everything is already less clumsy, back to polite hellos and mostly one-sided chats over class materials. He stashes the letter away because it feels wrong to throw it out, ready to bury it but not sure how.
Bafflingly, he thinks it'll be easier to put behind him once he updates Makoto. He had asked for advice, so it sort of makes sense, and they are best friends. This is the sort of gossip that friends swap, isn't it? But neither of them are the type for that, usually.
He still finds himself waiting impatiently for the chance at brunch; it's harder to meet up these days between Haru's practices and Makoto's studies, both gradually dialing up in intensity, but they make time for each other, because of course they do. When Makoto runs late, Haru doesn't bother waiting for very long in his impatience, traipsing up to his apartment and turning the key in the door, karmic balance for the number of times Makoto's invited himself into the Nanase household in Iwatobi. He isn't surprised at what he sees there, besides that his poor friend's managed to fall asleep hunched over a desk and not in his own bed, which is only a room over.
But Makoto's been working himself into a tizzy these days, and that's bound to take a toll eventually. He's reminded of a time he'd found his friend asleep in the foyer too, phone sitting loosely in his hand as he sat tilted against a wall, hair mussed up against it where he'd passed out by accident—no doubt after nodding off a few times—waiting for Haru to come back home.
He fights a little smile at the memory, even if there's no one awake to see it. A moment later, he shakes Makoto's shoulder gently, speaking quietly so as not to alarm him, or because that's his default volume. ]
—Makoto. You're going to hurt your neck like this.
[ Napping at his desk! How college of him. Haru doesn't yet glance at his papers, though he inevitably will. ]
Nnhā¦ [ Makoto grumbles as heās moved, clearly having slept too lightly in his hunched over pose. He rouses from dense, vibrant dreams. ] ...Haru? [ he mutters as he turns his head, squinting up at the young man for a long time. What is he doing hereā¦
Revelation hits him like a bolt of lightning. ] Oh--! Donāt tell me I slept thorough my alarmā¦ [ His hand reaches across his desk to snag his phone and check the time, thinking nothing of what heād left a top stacks of paper. His posture slouches further, his heart sicks with disappointment as he sees the blank home screen as well as the time. Didn't even set it. He'd been too lost in thought all evening.
Abjectly, he glances up at his friend: ] Sorry, Haru, Ah- let me get ready really quick. [ He stands, slipping closely by Haru before disappearing into his room. One look in the mirror and he heaves deep, audible sigh. Normally, Makoto put so much effort into dressing nicely for outings with Haru, whether consciously of his own feelings. Today is easily his weakest start. ]
Haru, did you have an idea of where you wanted to go? [ He calls while digging though his wardrobe. Always with that habit of filling the silence with words. ]
[ It's not really like Makoto to straight-up miss an appointment, but that's just a testament to how hard he must be working lately. Their dreams are different, but neither of them can afford to slack off when they've come as far as Tokyo. He waves off the apology after Makoto stirs; even if he's quietly aware this is out-of-character for him, it's nothing Haru would get mad about. How many times has Makoto accommodated his whims, anyway?
Instead, he mills about where he is, leaving his friend to scamper off and get ready as he leans a little on his desk, barely resting his weight against it. There are plenty of papers with notes and highlights, references and timesheets. He has nothing better to do than idly ready over what Makoto's been studying, when something does finally catch his eye. How could it not? His own name practically leaps off one of the sheets at him.
He only has a half-second to squint at it—is that a heart? some odd punctuation?—before he abruptly looks away when Makoto calls out for him, like he was caught in the middle of a misdemeanor. The friend crime of snooping. ]
—Family Mart?
[ That's not a restaurant. He pauses and tries again, pulling his errant thoughts together from where they've fallen onto the ground and scattered. His considerations for brunch probably rolled underneath the couch. He's not much of a fibber, and for some reason, this feels like lying. ]
[ Whatever shuffling might be audible, it clearly stops when he hears āFamily Mart.ā ] Family Mart? [ he echos quietly, trying to understand the suggestion. Like, yeah theyāve stopped by the konbini a couple of times after a long night of training, and Makoto liked it in a pinch, butā¦ for friend brunch? Maybe heās being too pretentious. A simple breakfast can be nice on short notice. Is Haru in a rush? ]
I donātā¦ really know if Family Mart has good mackerel? [ Even this feels like a weird suggestion. Not the part about Haru wanting mackerel; that was perfectly reasonable. But couldnāt Haru make better mackerel at home than some konbini? ] Uh, maybe you mean the restaurant next to it? What is itās nameā¦ [ he wonders to himself as he returns to his wardrobe issues. ] It might not have mackerel this early, either...
Ah, or, [ he reappears at his door frame, leaning out so he can see Haru. He's about half dressed at this point, pants on and shirt barely visible in his hands. ] Maybe Haru wants to make mackerel here instead? Iām not sure weāve actually cooked breakfast at my apartment before. Could be fun? [ He looks so happy, his eyes pinched and his grin wide. Heās feeling quite confident that he had solved the mystery of Haruās stumbling suggestions. ]
[ Haru is not in a rush. Haru is not even twenty and made stupid by youth and other factors. He could've lied and said he meant a family restaurant, but he blew that route by suggesting fish. Of course he would. Though he's usually not so careless with his words, barely speaking much at all, and never bothering to say anything he doesn't mean.
Still, what's done is done, and Makoto somehow deduces something very reasonable from the whole lot of nothing that Haru gives him to work with. He's always good at that. When Makoto pokes out from the doorframe, Haru cants his head to meet his eyes, staying leaned where he is. ]
...Yeah. That sounds good. I don't remember that restaurant's name either anyway.
[ Which is easier to say because it's true. He doesn't know the neighborhood here as well as his own. He relaxes at how obviously Makoto beams at him, even with his eyes puffy with freshly interrupted sleep and his clothes still disheveled. It's endearing. He rarely gets to see him out of sorts like this, and it's distraction enough that he can stop feeling bad about snooping and start thinking about their brunch spread.
A pause. ]
Have you started cooking more for yourself?
[ Makoto may have house husband energy, but cooking... was never his strong suit. ]
[ So Haru agrees, and Makoto nods ernestly with confirmation. While Haru answers, Makoto quickly pulls his shirt, followed by a light hoodie. ]
Ahh, Iām certainly not as good as you are, but I did make breakfast for the Iwatobi swim club while they were here for nationals. I donāt know if I would call it anything special.
Letās seeā¦ Weāll need to stop by a store regardless for mackerel. I donāt really keep any on hand. [ Yes yes, heās committing a great sin. Makoto pats himself down. ] Oh, my wallet. [ He disappears back into the room again.
At last, Makoto seems to be ready, looking as fresh as he can after an awkward nightās rest. Stopping in front of Haru, he offers his friend small smile. ] The grocerās hardly a block away, fortunately, so it shouldn't take long. Ah- [ Something catches his eye. Heād completely forgotten about it. ]
W-wait a minute, [ he mutters, his reach cutting quickly past Haru toward the desk. He snatches the time sheet with Haru's name written on it and turns it over promptly. Hold on, that-- that's not a normal thing to do suddenly. It's like his body moves on its own. He steps toward the desk to sort out the papers and books into stacks, an uncomfortable laugh on his voice. ] I-I really should have cleaned this up sooner, hah. Iād hate for something to go missing.
[ As hard as he's trying to cover, the surprise of forgetting has shaken his nerves. He's not masking well. ]
[ The sin of not having fresh mackerel around the house in case he has to feed Haru specifically. What nerve. He thinks back to times in high school, afternoons spent on cooking practice that ended up in too-salty servings of miso mackerel, and it nearly makes his mouth quirk up into a smile. At least they should manage brunch.
But before he can even start brainstorming a menu to shop for, Makoto zooms over, and the sheet he'd spied gets very pointedly buried away. The other papers and books are set into obviously random stacks, orderly but not organized, only punctuated by Makoto's clear unease.
Haru steps aside and blinks slow in retaliation, standing there. He's not at the level of being able to supernaturally articulate Makoto's thoughts for him—but he's perceptive enough. He can read his best friend enough. Haru wasn't supposed to see the papers there, and he had, and now there's a few seconds spent on his part, contemplative. He steps past the obvious cover with his usual nonchalance. ]
You don't need to hide things from me.
[ Was that paper so embarrassing? Haru finds it a puzzle, a meaning there that he turns over in his head privately, but he doesn't want Makoto to feel he has to hide anything. Not from him. ]
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And somewhere down the list, there's the sheer number of people that attend Hidaka. Haru doesn't venture outside their department much, more keen to focus on his studies and practice, but Iwatobi High had always been cozy. It's part of why it'd been so easy to imagine staying his whole life right where he was, swimming for leisure and floating along otherwise. It did make things difficult when it came to club recruitment, but for everything else... there was comfort in being unremarkable. A relative unknown. Friendly enough standing with his classmates, without drawing too much of their attention.
Holding an opened envelope—its edges neatly bound with decorative washi tape, sealed with a heart-shaped sticker, now peeled up at a corner—he's belatedly living out some strange high school drama, and doesn't know how to feel about it.
He's distracted enough that he hardly hears Makoto come into the locker room, even though he'd agreed to come help Haru keep track of his times today. After a distracted blink, he looks over in greeting, not bothering to get embarrassed and scramble to put the letter away. Why would he? He's not the type, for one, but also it's Makoto—he rarely takes the effort to hide anything from him. ]
—Makoto.
[ Hi. ]
Done studying?
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Itās unusual for Makoto not to announce himself and itās not only as Makoto rounds the corner of the lockers that he finally looks up. He grins, his head tilting, ] Hey, Haru. [ Even just to say his name, he seems happy. He sets his bag down near his friend. ]
Ah, for now. Some reading tonight that shouldnāt take long. [ He sits longways on the bench near Haru, a leg folded in front of him, facing his friend as he eyes the letter in hand. ] A note?
For you or... Did someone forget something?
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But it's an understandable curiosity. ]
For me.
[ He flips it so Makoto can see the neat curl of handwriting there: Nanase ]
From one of the girls in my last class.
[ Not someone he knows terribly well, but perfectly nice. They'd exchanged notes a few times. A relationship he'd assumed was as ordinary as any other in Iwatobi. ]
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But- he thinks better of it. His fingers twitch, shifting his whole posture to fold his arms over his chest, hands locked into his armpits. ] I see... [ Can he actually resist his own curiosity? His eyes fixated on the nice handwriting, bordered carefully in tape. It's... perfect, in a way. Cute. ] A girl, huh?
[ He glances up at last. ] So, have you read it?
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...I gave it a glance.
[ Not to be callous—Haru has a great many flaws, individualistic and reserved, but he doesn't mean to be cold. This is just uncharted territory. He can trust Makoto to tell between awkwardness and frigidity. ]
She ran off before we could talk about it. [ While Haru stood there motionlessly, like an idiot, no doubt. ] I think she was embarrassed.
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But... Faced with the unfamiliar, Haru inevitably would grow. He's so much more than he was back then. Who was Makoto not to encourage Haru to face the unknown, even if something... didn't set right with him. What an odd time to feel a knot in his stomach.
He starts, as if to speak, and again, hesitates. He chuckles softly, his voice more quiet against the sharp echo of the locker room. He seems to have found his smile again. ] Embarrassed, huh? I think if sheās embarrassed she must like you quite a bit.
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Still, when he hasn't even discussed something with Makoto, you know it's dire straits. He frowns minutely. ]
We don't know each other well...
[ He trails off, unsure of why he's arguing the point at all. It's true that Haru's changed with time, in small, Haru-shaped increments. He's more sensitive now to other's feelings, whether it's from hurting Rin or Ikuya or even Makoto, despite his seemingly infinite patience. But that doesn't mean he knows how to tackle this gracefully. And he's not sure that explains the strange, itchy feeling he gets. It's aggravating to try and decipher its source; the frustration sits in his sigh, soft, drawing out into a little silence. ]
I didn't realize this was something people really did.
[ Hand off declarations of their crushes in cute notes behind school. But he's a little out of touch. ]
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They do it in anime all the time... ah, I guess you probably don't watch as much. [ He'd like to say it's Ren and Ran's fault he would watch any anime, but let's be real, he's keeping it up in college pretty gladly. This would certainly be no secret to Haru, either. ] I think... [ He stares at the letter. ] Ah.. It's hard to explain.
It can be hard, admitting how you feel to someone. If they're not interested, to bare that rejection... a letter seems like an easy way to avoid that, no?
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I guess so.
[ Confessing feelings in general sounds tortuous, actually. Pulling teeth. He gently rolls up the envelope's sticker with his thumb. ]
...So they wouldn't expect a response? [ What is he even supposed to do? He actually has no idea if Makoto has much experience with this sort of thing either, which is a funny little realization. Just hilarious. He looks unamused, his typical non-expression turned ruminating. ]
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[ How to answer... Makoto looks down at Haru fidgeting with the sticker. Whatever experience Makoto might have, it's not as if it meant anything here. Each person is different. Haru wasn't him; this woman was her own person as well. Someone who saw Haru and felt a chance at a connection. Catching the gaze of others seemed to be something Haru was always good at, whether he meant it or not. That Haru would get a letter now, especially after how much he'd grown.... it's not so surprising.
In Haru's shoes, he knows what he would say, for simple reasons. In her shoes, he knows what he would hope for. They sat at odds. His posture relaxes, humming as he deflates: ] Hm, well, it'd be rude to ignore her....
[ What he would hope for. He feels his brain locking up.
After too long a silence, he seems to return to the moment, a simper in his voice: ] Ah, but, you might still have fun, Haru. One date never hurt anyone, if she seems nice enough.
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Maybe this makes some bizarre sense to Makoto, but Haru doesn't follow. The only draw he seems to have is in the pool—even when his classes are derivatives of that, related to sports and health, he doesn't expect this sort of attention outside of the water.
If anything, Makoto's the one who should be dealing with a stack of letters. Kind, personable, good with kids. Notably broad-shouldered. Isn't that what people like? Not weird, quiet guys who spend most of their lives in jammers. Before he can follow this spiral of thought, his brows hop up. ]
A date.
[ Okay. Well, yes, okay. Obviously this would incur either a rejection or a date—he'd known that, but it's strange to have it laid out in the binary. Yes or no. So incredibly simple. It doesn't feel that way at all. He draws in and folds up his leg so he can rest his chin on his knee, staring at Makoto. ]
She's nice. [ He confirms that easily enough. It's hard to label Haru's behavior with anyone outside of long-term friends as cordial, but they're polite together. Then he changes tack, a little abrupt, finding this a difficult subject to navigate, even with Makoto. (Maybe because it's Makoto.) ] I've never been on a date.
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Heās happy to wait for Haru to turn the cogs regardless, offering a small, almost polite smile as Haru stares, and then a light laugh at the plain admission. ] Ahā¦ I would figure youād say that, Haru... [ He scratches his cheek.
Still, he feels bad. Haru was Haru. He changed the most where it mattered. Love, well... itās not that important. ] Itās okay if youād rather not, too, Haru. She... might be happier not getting her hopes up, anyway.
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Yeah.
[ As blase as he seems about company, he doesn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. How long had that one incident with Rin followed him around? Guilt is an emotion that sits under his skin for ages, and he's keen to avoid... heartbreak? Feels dramatic for a classroom crush, but something like that.
He sighs, easing up on the tension again to sound tired, cheek scrunched under him from where he's rests it more heavily. He doesn't really think before he asks, ]
What would you do?
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Unlike Haru, his nerves are immediately obvious. A glance away, his head turns to the side. His hand touches his mouth, subtly hiding his expression. Itās as if heās trying to feign thinking of his answer; but he probably already knows his answer. Hard to say heād doing it on purpose now, but there was always a tendency to mask the little troubles he had. Unfortunately, the question left him disarmed. ] Ah-ha, uhm... [ Why does giving this answer bother him so much? ]
I guess, from a girl, Iād probably have to say no, but...
[ The implication is there, but heās sure Haru wouldnāt think differently of him. Still, goosebumps tickle his warm shoulders. ] But, from the right guy, it seems sort of cute, doesn't it?
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But in this case, anyone might get a case of nerves. Haru's stare turns owlish, more curious than surprised; he'd never considered Makoto's taste in people before, yet it feels right. He agrees, easy. ]
...From the right guy, sure.
[ Naturally, Haru doesn't judge. If there's a strange, irksome feeling in his gut, it's not disdain—more like... protectiveness. He tries to convince himself it's protectiveness, anyway. The same sort he'd used to feel when they were younger and Kisumi would drape dramatically across Makoto's shoulders, and Haru wanted to swat him away like a particularly large, annoying pink gnat.
He'd gone still through Makoto's answer, but rolls his neck now, looking off at a locker in an effort to appear casual still. ]
Maybe you should write a letter. If you ever feel that way. [ Makoto's right in that it seems like a gentle way to go about things. ]
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His nervous mood is tempered, but he still feels awash with warmth. Comfort. While Haru turns through his own thoughts, Makoto at last turns away, remembering himself and why he came this far in the first place. ]
Ah, maybe, [ he chuckles at the notion. He feels like Haru put him into a more giddy mood all at once. He pulls at the laces of his shoes. ] I think Iād be too afraid for anything to... ever change.
[ And carefully, he places his shoes and socks in the locker before pulling out his stopwatch proudly. It's bright green, just like him! ] So, Haru? Ready to do some time trials? [ He grins at his friend. ]
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So despite how simple Haru's answer had been, it doesn't surprise him to hear that laugh, or to spot the contentment that bubbles through Makoto, light and buoyant. He's seen this any number of times before, across every stage of his life. And still, he watches for a moment too long; still, it's contagious, catching in him like a warmth that spreads pleasantly through his core.
It's the first time today he can put the letter out of his mind. ]
...Yeah.
[ Right, he did call him out here to practice. Swimming. He stretches out his arms briefly, like they've been sitting longer than they have, picking up the letter to stash it away safely. There's a tiny flutter of emotion he hasn't resolved, a shade tracking behind an otherwise illuminating conversation—I'd be too afraid for anything to change—but it settles for a time. He braces his hands on his knees to push himself up to his feet to head into the natatorium. He thinks of Makoto's happiness, bright as it was. Things are good. Nothing needs to change.
It doesn't fully reflect his thoughts, but he's honest as he sighs out, ]
Swimming is easier than all this stuff.
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[ Pouring over papers, burning the proverbial midnight oil, Makotoās desk has become full with his studies and the notes he had about Haruās practices, and itās only grown over time. Once a week, working with Haru at Hidaka, wasnāt much, but to have his studies contextualized with Haruās help made his many busy days that much more worthwhile. His dreams were... tangible. It seemed the most excited heād ever been about the future.
Yet, those hopes, that determination didnāt capture his mind like they normally would. Pouring over Haruās numbers for the third time this week, he questioned his own sense. As they left the locker room that day, their hearts felt balanced, but these time trials. Among them were some of Haruās best and worst times. He knew his friend well enough to realize how much Haruās swimming spoke to his feelings, but he wondered what inspired this oddity. He was sure it wasnāt his small confession, yet he wondered. ...From the right guy, sure.
In his personal relief, had he missed something Haru was trying to tell him?
He yawns before leaning his cheek into his wrist. His tired thoughts are scattered, seeing numbers, letters, the parallel of Haruās form beside a textbook diagram. That letterā¦ Heād never know its contents, but he recalls the beautiful way that unknown woman wrote Haruās name. Without thinking, his pencil scratches his friendās name down on the time sheet like a memory. Girls are funny, but he understands the feeling. A little heart just off é„ fits so perfectly within his name. Before he knows it, his eyes are closed, his mind is quiet. He dreams of sweet, cool water splashing against his lips. Ravensā wings brush his cheeks and arms. It's the most beautiful place heās never been. Heās had this dream before.
When morning arrives, the time of their originally scheduled brunch, Makoto has, unfortunately, failed to meet Haru at the bottom of his apartment complex. Heāll need to come up to fetch his friend instead who, fortunately, had given Haru access and a key to the apartment long before this. It certainly wasnāt like him to run late, but the poor young man had seemed more haggard lately, so just another in a series of university cramming. When Haru gets there, heāll find Makoto still fast asleep at his desk, his papers unmoved from where he had worked them the night before. ]
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When all else fails to clear his head, swimming will usually do the trick. The momentary muteness of the world, the quietude—he finds comfort in the distance of it, however shallow, like pulling the covers up over his head. But it's evasive maneuvers. The problems show in his times, erratically swinging between quite good and very useless. The same issues sit with him when he pulls himself up out of the pool, just waiting to be retrieved at the starting block, and when practice ends he's right back where he started.
Later, not much later, he carefully lets his classmate down. His words trail off more than once, but he's still clear in his disinterest to be more than friends. He's as gentle about it as he can manage, and she is apologetic and gracious, answering with embarrassed half-bows for troubling him as he assures her it's nothing like that. It's awkward. Yet somehow, there's no fallout. They part ways with stilted goodbyes, but by next class, everything is already less clumsy, back to polite hellos and mostly one-sided chats over class materials. He stashes the letter away because it feels wrong to throw it out, ready to bury it but not sure how.
Bafflingly, he thinks it'll be easier to put behind him once he updates Makoto. He had asked for advice, so it sort of makes sense, and they are best friends. This is the sort of gossip that friends swap, isn't it? But neither of them are the type for that, usually.
He still finds himself waiting impatiently for the chance at brunch; it's harder to meet up these days between Haru's practices and Makoto's studies, both gradually dialing up in intensity, but they make time for each other, because of course they do. When Makoto runs late, Haru doesn't bother waiting for very long in his impatience, traipsing up to his apartment and turning the key in the door, karmic balance for the number of times Makoto's invited himself into the Nanase household in Iwatobi. He isn't surprised at what he sees there, besides that his poor friend's managed to fall asleep hunched over a desk and not in his own bed, which is only a room over.
But Makoto's been working himself into a tizzy these days, and that's bound to take a toll eventually. He's reminded of a time he'd found his friend asleep in the foyer too, phone sitting loosely in his hand as he sat tilted against a wall, hair mussed up against it where he'd passed out by accident—no doubt after nodding off a few times—waiting for Haru to come back home.
He fights a little smile at the memory, even if there's no one awake to see it. A moment later, he shakes Makoto's shoulder gently, speaking quietly so as not to alarm him, or because that's his default volume. ]
—Makoto. You're going to hurt your neck like this.
[ Napping at his desk! How college of him. Haru doesn't yet glance at his papers, though he inevitably will. ]
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Revelation hits him like a bolt of lightning. ] Oh--! Donāt tell me I slept thorough my alarmā¦ [ His hand reaches across his desk to snag his phone and check the time, thinking nothing of what heād left a top stacks of paper. His posture slouches further, his heart sicks with disappointment as he sees the blank home screen as well as the time. Didn't even set it. He'd been too lost in thought all evening.
Abjectly, he glances up at his friend: ] Sorry, Haru, Ah- let me get ready really quick. [ He stands, slipping closely by Haru before disappearing into his room. One look in the mirror and he heaves deep, audible sigh. Normally, Makoto put so much effort into dressing nicely for outings with Haru, whether consciously of his own feelings. Today is easily his weakest start. ]
Haru, did you have an idea of where you wanted to go? [ He calls while digging though his wardrobe. Always with that habit of filling the silence with words. ]
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Instead, he mills about where he is, leaving his friend to scamper off and get ready as he leans a little on his desk, barely resting his weight against it. There are plenty of papers with notes and highlights, references and timesheets. He has nothing better to do than idly ready over what Makoto's been studying, when something does finally catch his eye. How could it not? His own name practically leaps off one of the sheets at him.
He only has a half-second to squint at it—is that a heart? some odd punctuation?—before he abruptly looks away when Makoto calls out for him, like he was caught in the middle of a misdemeanor. The friend crime of snooping. ]
—Family Mart?
[ That's not a restaurant. He pauses and tries again, pulling his errant thoughts together from where they've fallen onto the ground and scattered. His considerations for brunch probably rolled underneath the couch. He's not much of a fibber, and for some reason, this feels like lying. ]
I mean anywhere with mackerel.
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I donātā¦ really know if Family Mart has good mackerel? [ Even this feels like a weird suggestion. Not the part about Haru wanting mackerel; that was perfectly reasonable. But couldnāt Haru make better mackerel at home than some konbini? ] Uh, maybe you mean the restaurant next to it? What is itās nameā¦ [ he wonders to himself as he returns to his wardrobe issues. ] It might not have mackerel this early, either...
Ah, or, [ he reappears at his door frame, leaning out so he can see Haru. He's about half dressed at this point, pants on and shirt barely visible in his hands. ] Maybe Haru wants to make mackerel here instead? Iām not sure weāve actually cooked breakfast at my apartment before. Could be fun? [ He looks so happy, his eyes pinched and his grin wide. Heās feeling quite confident that he had solved the mystery of Haruās stumbling suggestions. ]
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Still, what's done is done, and Makoto somehow deduces something very reasonable from the whole lot of nothing that Haru gives him to work with. He's always good at that. When Makoto pokes out from the doorframe, Haru cants his head to meet his eyes, staying leaned where he is. ]
...Yeah. That sounds good. I don't remember that restaurant's name either anyway.
[ Which is easier to say because it's true. He doesn't know the neighborhood here as well as his own. He relaxes at how obviously Makoto beams at him, even with his eyes puffy with freshly interrupted sleep and his clothes still disheveled. It's endearing. He rarely gets to see him out of sorts like this, and it's distraction enough that he can stop feeling bad about snooping and start thinking about their brunch spread.
A pause. ]
Have you started cooking more for yourself?
[ Makoto may have house husband energy, but cooking... was never his strong suit. ]
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Ahh, Iām certainly not as good as you are, but I did make breakfast for the Iwatobi swim club while they were here for nationals. I donāt know if I would call it anything special.
Letās seeā¦ Weāll need to stop by a store regardless for mackerel. I donāt really keep any on hand. [ Yes yes, heās committing a great sin. Makoto pats himself down. ] Oh, my wallet. [ He disappears back into the room again.
At last, Makoto seems to be ready, looking as fresh as he can after an awkward nightās rest. Stopping in front of Haru, he offers his friend small smile. ] The grocerās hardly a block away, fortunately, so it shouldn't take long. Ah- [ Something catches his eye. Heād completely forgotten about it. ]
W-wait a minute, [ he mutters, his reach cutting quickly past Haru toward the desk. He snatches the time sheet with Haru's name written on it and turns it over promptly. Hold on, that-- that's not a normal thing to do suddenly. It's like his body moves on its own. He steps toward the desk to sort out the papers and books into stacks, an uncomfortable laugh on his voice. ] I-I really should have cleaned this up sooner, hah. Iād hate for something to go missing.
[ As hard as he's trying to cover, the surprise of forgetting has shaken his nerves. He's not masking well. ]
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But before he can even start brainstorming a menu to shop for, Makoto zooms over, and the sheet he'd spied gets very pointedly buried away. The other papers and books are set into obviously random stacks, orderly but not organized, only punctuated by Makoto's clear unease.
Haru steps aside and blinks slow in retaliation, standing there. He's not at the level of being able to supernaturally articulate Makoto's thoughts for him—but he's perceptive enough. He can read his best friend enough. Haru wasn't supposed to see the papers there, and he had, and now there's a few seconds spent on his part, contemplative. He steps past the obvious cover with his usual nonchalance. ]
You don't need to hide things from me.
[ Was that paper so embarrassing? Haru finds it a puzzle, a meaning there that he turns over in his head privately, but he doesn't want Makoto to feel he has to hide anything. Not from him. ]