[ 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?
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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? ]