[ 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. ]
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. ]
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no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
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. ]