[ 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. ]
Hide? [ His attention snaps back to Haru, a frazzled half smile on his face. The instinct to cover his ass comes in full forceāat least until he catches Haruās eyes.
He... saw it. Itās not the look in Haruās eyes that tells him, but the words as he said them. He wouldnāt say it unless he knew something, but Haruās eyes unintentionally settle guilt deep in his stomach. The smile falls. His eyes avert. His head turns and heās looking at his desk, away from Haru. Itās not the only blue paper here, it's just a single sheet among other time trials they had, but it radiates an unforgettable color in this moment. He could pull it out in a single motion and lay it bare. ]
...Sorry, [ he whispers; a soft apology meant for close company. Itās not the first time this has happened, is it? Time spent overlong thinking about Haru and what meaning he had to him. Haru saw through him then, too; and it hurt worse to say nothing than to admit himself. He can't do that to Haru, again... His cheeks burn red as he touches a corner of the paper, shoved into the binding of a book it didnāt belong in. ]
I just...
[ He hesitates. Bitterly, he smiles at the books. Haruās not the only one heās hiding from. ]
[ He follows Makoto's eyes to the paper again, frowning lightly. Haru's name must appear on at least a dozen of these sheets. It doesn't have to mean anything different this time, but... it apparently does.
He hasn't fully grappled with that. The way the lines had curled up into a little heart, just like the letter he'd received, the one whose feelings he couldn't return. Even at a glance though, he could see that it was different. Not as practiced and tidy as the dainty, feminine script drawn on the confession envelope. It was Makoto writing it, in handwriting he'd recognize anywhere. Makoto, who seems upset.
That bothers him more than what the paper could mean.
He comes to rest against the desk, folding his hands together tidily. He isn't the type to run over and rub anyone's back in comfort, but his voice is soft. ]
Haven't we already...?
[ Slowly, slowly. Having seen each other practically every day since they were bright-eyed and chubby-cheeked, of course it's hard to tell, because incremental change over a decade is harder to see than the absolutely seismic shift in Ikuya or Rin appearing after a several year absence. In that sense, their evolution has been glacial. Gentle.
But they're not the same as they were when they were kids. They haven't been the same since Makoto told Haru his plans to go off to college, and the fight and resolution that followed. Things are different since Makoto challenged him to that race, the one he tossed his head back and grinned at while water flung off his hair while Haru just stared, mouth agape. They've found parallel but different dreams. They've grown up. Their relationship has grown with them.
He casts his gaze up at the ceiling like he can find the answer to this strange situation up there. It's not, so he has to improvise—he reaches for a nearly clumsy sincerity. ]
I'm not as afraid as I used to be. [ The loss of stability used to terrify him, root him in place. He was so close to never leaving Iwatobi. And yet here they are. He looks back at Makoto, both curious and a little concerned. ] ...Why would things ever change for the worse for us?
[ To Haru's first words, Makoto turns his head and, after a beat, smiles, his feelings visibly as complex as whatever troubles him within.
Have they changed? Makoto wonders. Haru has changed; Haru is so much more than he was even a couple years ago. Thoughtful, mature, handsome, determined. Although at times Makoto felt terrible watching that metamorphosis, even causing some of that pain, the man with him now had grown for every challenge he faced. Of course, Makoto saw how much he had grown.
Himself, however? It seemsā¦ unfathomable. He felt bigger, older, maybe a bit smarter, but is that really changing? His mind wanders back into catacombs of memories. A polite cough, on his first day of middle school, as he called himself ore for the first time. He wanted so badly just to grow up in those old days. He wanted to be with Haru for every moment of it. Still, he tried to put that distance between them and find himself, but for what? This feeling did not change, did it?
But they... together, had they changed? Still side by side. Still best friends. Dreams apart but still together. Forever constants in each otherās lives. He wonders what Haru might see in him, now, as theyāve grown so much together.
Makoto turns, sitting half way on the desk, a little shorter now and slouched as he glances at Haru. ] Maybe Iām worried Iāll do something dumb. Again. [ Thereās a humility to the smile. He blames himself for pushing Haru away in middle school; for pulling away from him in high school. Rarely they fought, but it did weigh heavy on his heart when he remembered. Yet, he never wanted to lose Haru. He stares forward, his eyes seeing through his friend, his mind caught up in a hidden feeling that he is still trying to chase down. ]
If I said something stupid that... you didnāt want, [ he glances up finally, his green eyes staunch against the bright hue in his cheeks, ] Iād still want you to be my friend. Haru. So... do you mind?
[ There's a tiny, troubled furrow in his brow. He understands Makoto's caution, because their relationship is something precious. Something to sustain at any cost. Is it any wonder he might treat it like glass, as though it's frailer than it really is? Haru is often the other extreme, too confident about their friendship, taking for granted how it'll survive no matter how he acts—but even then, there's a peculiar doubt and uncertainty in Makoto's words and in his modest smile, and Haru feels a quiet anxiety of his own. It spreads like ripples across an otherwise still lake, a call and answer response.
This all feels... new. Like that letter had been.
But, Makoto is also a worrier. Chronically over-concerned and over-caring. He's probably been overthinking this; it'd be no surprise if whatever this is about had helped contribute to his sleepless night.
So it won't help for both of them to get nervous. Haru exhales in a sigh, settling himself, pushing down an unnamed trepidation of his own until it's so compressed it doesn't affect his voice at all. ]
...You're ridiculous. Who asks for permission to be stupid...? [ He says so with a classic, feigned exasperation. They've both done countless idiotic things to each other. He waves off his concern and looks Makoto in the eyes, above the color in his cheeks, beyond the nerves. ] Just say whatever you want.
[ He doesn't want distance for the sake of security; he doesn't want to be held a safe arm's length away, because that's still away. Better that Makoto to speak his true thoughts, as absurd or painful as they may be. At worst, they'll have a fight, but they've crossed worse roads before. Worries or not, change or not, they'll still be friends, forever. ]
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no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
He... saw it. Itās not the look in Haruās eyes that tells him, but the words as he said them. He wouldnāt say it unless he knew something, but Haruās eyes unintentionally settle guilt deep in his stomach. The smile falls. His eyes avert. His head turns and heās looking at his desk, away from Haru. Itās not the only blue paper here, it's just a single sheet among other time trials they had, but it radiates an unforgettable color in this moment. He could pull it out in a single motion and lay it bare. ]
...Sorry, [ he whispers; a soft apology meant for close company. Itās not the first time this has happened, is it? Time spent overlong thinking about Haru and what meaning he had to him. Haru saw through him then, too; and it hurt worse to say nothing than to admit himself. He can't do that to Haru, again... His cheeks burn red as he touches a corner of the paper, shoved into the binding of a book it didnāt belong in. ]
I just...
[ He hesitates. Bitterly, he smiles at the books. Haruās not the only one heās hiding from. ]
I donāt want us to ever change, Haru.
[ He doesn't even consider his own echo. ]
no subject
He hasn't fully grappled with that. The way the lines had curled up into a little heart, just like the letter he'd received, the one whose feelings he couldn't return. Even at a glance though, he could see that it was different. Not as practiced and tidy as the dainty, feminine script drawn on the confession envelope. It was Makoto writing it, in handwriting he'd recognize anywhere. Makoto, who seems upset.
That bothers him more than what the paper could mean.
He comes to rest against the desk, folding his hands together tidily. He isn't the type to run over and rub anyone's back in comfort, but his voice is soft. ]
Haven't we already...?
[ Slowly, slowly. Having seen each other practically every day since they were bright-eyed and chubby-cheeked, of course it's hard to tell, because incremental change over a decade is harder to see than the absolutely seismic shift in Ikuya or Rin appearing after a several year absence. In that sense, their evolution has been glacial. Gentle.
But they're not the same as they were when they were kids. They haven't been the same since Makoto told Haru his plans to go off to college, and the fight and resolution that followed. Things are different since Makoto challenged him to that race, the one he tossed his head back and grinned at while water flung off his hair while Haru just stared, mouth agape. They've found parallel but different dreams. They've grown up. Their relationship has grown with them.
He casts his gaze up at the ceiling like he can find the answer to this strange situation up there. It's not, so he has to improvise—he reaches for a nearly clumsy sincerity. ]
I'm not as afraid as I used to be. [ The loss of stability used to terrify him, root him in place. He was so close to never leaving Iwatobi. And yet here they are. He looks back at Makoto, both curious and a little concerned. ] ...Why would things ever change for the worse for us?
[ What's made him afraid? ]
no subject
Have they changed? Makoto wonders. Haru has changed; Haru is so much more than he was even a couple years ago. Thoughtful, mature, handsome, determined. Although at times Makoto felt terrible watching that metamorphosis, even causing some of that pain, the man with him now had grown for every challenge he faced. Of course, Makoto saw how much he had grown.
Himself, however? It seemsā¦ unfathomable. He felt bigger, older, maybe a bit smarter, but is that really changing? His mind wanders back into catacombs of memories. A polite cough, on his first day of middle school, as he called himself ore for the first time. He wanted so badly just to grow up in those old days. He wanted to be with Haru for every moment of it. Still, he tried to put that distance between them and find himself, but for what? This feeling did not change, did it?
But they... together, had they changed? Still side by side. Still best friends. Dreams apart but still together. Forever constants in each otherās lives. He wonders what Haru might see in him, now, as theyāve grown so much together.
Makoto turns, sitting half way on the desk, a little shorter now and slouched as he glances at Haru. ] Maybe Iām worried Iāll do something dumb. Again. [ Thereās a humility to the smile. He blames himself for pushing Haru away in middle school; for pulling away from him in high school. Rarely they fought, but it did weigh heavy on his heart when he remembered. Yet, he never wanted to lose Haru. He stares forward, his eyes seeing through his friend, his mind caught up in a hidden feeling that he is still trying to chase down. ]
If I said something stupid that... you didnāt want, [ he glances up finally, his green eyes staunch against the bright hue in his cheeks, ] Iād still want you to be my friend. Haru. So... do you mind?
no subject
This all feels... new. Like that letter had been.
But, Makoto is also a worrier. Chronically over-concerned and over-caring. He's probably been overthinking this; it'd be no surprise if whatever this is about had helped contribute to his sleepless night.
So it won't help for both of them to get nervous. Haru exhales in a sigh, settling himself, pushing down an unnamed trepidation of his own until it's so compressed it doesn't affect his voice at all. ]
...You're ridiculous. Who asks for permission to be stupid...? [ He says so with a classic, feigned exasperation. They've both done countless idiotic things to each other. He waves off his concern and looks Makoto in the eyes, above the color in his cheeks, beyond the nerves. ] Just say whatever you want.
[ He doesn't want distance for the sake of security; he doesn't want to be held a safe arm's length away, because that's still away. Better that Makoto to speak his true thoughts, as absurd or painful as they may be. At worst, they'll have a fight, but they've crossed worse roads before. Worries or not, change or not, they'll still be friends, forever. ]