[ He makes a familiar face at "cute." The same expression he's got when he's waiting at the lip of a pool, catching his breath or just feeling out the water, when Makoto appears like clockwork to offer him a hand out of it. That flattened expression where he's annoyed, but not really. Where he might just roll his eyes, but never does.
It's just another part of their routine. The same, yet different. The natural evolution of how they've been since they were kids. But unlike middle school—where Makoto had tried to change and they'd ended up right back on the same trajectory, like some unseen gravity keeps them together—this feels more... natural. I love swimming and Haru-chan. It's just the same as he'd said all those years ago, just as he'd remembered, but more.
It still catches him off-guard, answering first with a wide-eyed blink. ]
More... [ He parrots slowly. He's made Makoto spell out what was already there, laying it in front of them in no uncertain terms. Haru's not much for romance, for more, or at least not one to notice. Maybe rejecting the letter from his classmate could've been avoided otherwise.
Then he glances over at the hidden paper in surprise, pieces belatedly clicking together. ] —Oh. You wrote it like that because of the letter.
[ Thank you for the obvious, Haru. It's like he's piecing it together aloud. Even now, he works on his own timeline and at his own dumbfounded pace, which struggles to keep up. He'd been too embarrassed to even articulate a response back in grade school. At least now he can take a hint, but that just means his pulse quickens too, and age hasn't made him any more articulate. His thoughts spin and his throat works around a response and he thinks about that night so long ago, floating through the pool together with all their clothes on, soaked and bogging them down, and how weightless he'd felt anyway.
He finds the training sheet, pinching it by the corner to slide it back out. It'd been so hastily put away. He'd kind of cornered Makoto into talking about it. He glances from the paper back to his friend, his head a little dipped as his bangs slip over his face, puzzled but not upset. ]
no subject
It's just another part of their routine. The same, yet different. The natural evolution of how they've been since they were kids. But unlike middle school—where Makoto had tried to change and they'd ended up right back on the same trajectory, like some unseen gravity keeps them together—this feels more... natural. I love swimming and Haru-chan. It's just the same as he'd said all those years ago, just as he'd remembered, but more.
It still catches him off-guard, answering first with a wide-eyed blink. ]
More... [ He parrots slowly. He's made Makoto spell out what was already there, laying it in front of them in no uncertain terms. Haru's not much for romance, for more, or at least not one to notice. Maybe rejecting the letter from his classmate could've been avoided otherwise.
Then he glances over at the hidden paper in surprise, pieces belatedly clicking together. ] —Oh. You wrote it like that because of the letter.
[ Thank you for the obvious, Haru. It's like he's piecing it together aloud. Even now, he works on his own timeline and at his own dumbfounded pace, which struggles to keep up. He'd been too embarrassed to even articulate a response back in grade school. At least now he can take a hint, but that just means his pulse quickens too, and age hasn't made him any more articulate. His thoughts spin and his throat works around a response and he thinks about that night so long ago, floating through the pool together with all their clothes on, soaked and bogging them down, and how weightless he'd felt anyway.
He finds the training sheet, pinching it by the corner to slide it back out. It'd been so hastily put away. He'd kind of cornered Makoto into talking about it. He glances from the paper back to his friend, his head a little dipped as his bangs slip over his face, puzzled but not upset. ]
...Were you that scared to tell me?