[ 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. ]
[ Itās as if Haru cuts the tension with a single stroke. The sigh, the feigned exasperation, that way he looks into his old friendās eyes. All at once heās feeling both nervous and elated, and suddenly he laughs, his head tilting and his shoulders lifting. Theyāve known each other so long, itās hard to say if Haru knew how to unburden his heart, or that Makoto had become so naturally comforted by his friendās quirks that any sentiment would ease him. Maybe itās both.
Say whatever he wants? Maybe it slips out, maybe itās a primer, he admits through his laughter: ] You know, youāre cute when youāre like that. [ Not that he could ever describe what āthatā is. He knew exactly how he felt about it, and it pooled warmth in his chest.
Thereās still a smile on his face as he glances into the room, as if thinking about the exact words he wanted. In some ways, in that one simple sentence, maybe heās already said his heart, but between them, anything could mean just as much as nothing. ]
Do you remember... what I said when we started middle school? About swimming and... about you.
I donāt know if I think any of that ever changedā¦ or, [ his hand presses against his own heart, wishing desperately it would calm down, ] maybe it did get worse.
I just... canāt help but wonder if Haru and I could ever be more than this.
[ 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. ]
Huh? [ He turns, realizing that Haru has cut behind him toward the paper. ] H-hold on, you donāt have tā [ But, of course, he has to. Is it not the crux of this whole encounter? The sheet slips out and Makoto feels his heart clench again. Haru was right to question it at first; with only the top right stroke replaced, it could seem so benign at glance, maybe even meaningless. Up close, it was impossible to deny. If he were asked, in the moment, heād admit he was somewhat embarrassed that he even did it as a guy, but he knows his mind had been tied in sorts over that girl.
He stares, his expression somber and nervous as he wonders whatās going through his friendās mind. Haru seemed as cool and level-headed as Makoto had ever seen in him; or, at least, Haru was thinking quietly about what Makoto said. He simpers: ] Ah... well, scared might be a bit much. [ Makoto and āscaredā had a different relationship. A scared Makoto showed his feelings about Haru more easily: cowering behind the person that made him feel most safe. He would have called his feeling something different, but not dissimilar.
He conceeds: ] But... yeah. You... [ -and this stings to admit- ] donāt really seem interested in that sort of thing. [ āDonāt.ā As if heās already resigned to something.
His gaze falls, then lifts. He smiles sweetly at Haru. ] And thatās fine, too. I just want Haru to be himself. [ Because thatās who he loves: Haru, just as he is, however much or little those feelings might be returned. ]
[ He stares at the sheet, stock still for a while, before he looks up and he's greeted by Makoto's smile. Haru finds an unknown knot start to unravel in his chest, a nonsensical fear that Makoto would be upset with him depending on the outcome of this conversation. In most cases, he'd think that their friendship hinges on the outcome of this conversation, on social graces that Haru doesn't have, or feelings that aren't right, aren't requited.
But if Makoto isn't afraid—if they'll still be each other's closest person no matter what Haru does or doesn't say back—then he doesn't have to work so hard to answer.
His expression eases, not elated or sad, just... Haru. Affected, in a quiet way. His heart feels like it's traveled up his throat, like it's beating there, hard and noisy against how soft his words are. ]
I can only ever be myself.
[ Makoto doesn't have to worry that Haru will force himself into some disparate mold. He is, for better and worse, unabashedly himself. Even when he does things for someone else's sake, it's because he wants to. If he responds to Makoto's feelings, then that's his own desire.
Though—Makoto isn't unreasonable to doubt his interest. Haru—mister "water for brains" himself—who crushed on a waterfall before a person. The whole problem with his classmate and her letter stemmed from how little attention he's paid to romance. His past indifference is biting him twice now. He cuts his gaze away, frowning like he's been teased. ]
I already agreed with you before. That a letter from the right guy would be... [ Well, okay. He's not going to use the same verbage. Cute. ] It'd be fine.
[ Speechless, Makoto cannot tear his eyes away from Haru. Itād be fine. This small echo thunders in his ears, like a microphone held too close to speakers. It's deafening. How many things have been said between them that never reached this pitch? To say he had dreamed of this moment gave him too much credit: he wished, but would never dare to imagine. Now, with subtle words, heās forced to grapple with the small, polite implication that, maybe... He could be that āright guyā for Haru.
His smile complex, he canāt deny the stress that pools in his chest. There are years of safeguards here heās forced to undo, practically none which could be taken down in mere seconds. A rejection almost would have been easier, he thinks ruefully; at least that, he was prepared for. His eyes glance aside as he rubs his pounding heart. A small, audible sigh slips out of him, his fretting evident. Heās overwhelmed, but heās not doing either of them any favours by letting his timid heart have its way. Terribly, if this is his chance, he wants it to be perfect, but no about of breathing or waiting was going to still the inevitable shake in his voice.
So he stands, facing Haruāhe tries to stand up straight and instill confidence in himself, but a small, shy laughter quickly undoes his efforts. He slouches, his neck craned in turn, his shoulders high, and he smiles his very best: ]
Would... you like to go to the Aquarium with me, Haru? I think... thatās something couples like to do, right? Maybe next week....
[ Never mind that their brunch not-date is still in front of them. Too many years of subtlety and friendship, he realizes he needs something obvious. ]
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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. ]
no subject
Say whatever he wants? Maybe it slips out, maybe itās a primer, he admits through his laughter: ] You know, youāre cute when youāre like that. [ Not that he could ever describe what āthatā is. He knew exactly how he felt about it, and it pooled warmth in his chest.
Thereās still a smile on his face as he glances into the room, as if thinking about the exact words he wanted. In some ways, in that one simple sentence, maybe heās already said his heart, but between them, anything could mean just as much as nothing. ]
Do you remember... what I said when we started middle school? About swimming and... about you.
I donāt know if I think any of that ever changedā¦ or, [ his hand presses against his own heart, wishing desperately it would calm down, ] maybe it did get worse.
I just... canāt help but wonder if Haru and I could ever be more than this.
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?
no subject
He stares, his expression somber and nervous as he wonders whatās going through his friendās mind. Haru seemed as cool and level-headed as Makoto had ever seen in him; or, at least, Haru was thinking quietly about what Makoto said. He simpers: ] Ah... well, scared might be a bit much. [ Makoto and āscaredā had a different relationship. A scared Makoto showed his feelings about Haru more easily: cowering behind the person that made him feel most safe. He would have called his feeling something different, but not dissimilar.
He conceeds: ] But... yeah. You... [ -and this stings to admit- ] donāt really seem interested in that sort of thing. [ āDonāt.ā As if heās already resigned to something.
His gaze falls, then lifts. He smiles sweetly at Haru. ] And thatās fine, too. I just want Haru to be himself. [ Because thatās who he loves: Haru, just as he is, however much or little those feelings might be returned. ]
no subject
But if Makoto isn't afraid—if they'll still be each other's closest person no matter what Haru does or doesn't say back—then he doesn't have to work so hard to answer.
His expression eases, not elated or sad, just... Haru. Affected, in a quiet way. His heart feels like it's traveled up his throat, like it's beating there, hard and noisy against how soft his words are. ]
I can only ever be myself.
[ Makoto doesn't have to worry that Haru will force himself into some disparate mold. He is, for better and worse, unabashedly himself. Even when he does things for someone else's sake, it's because he wants to. If he responds to Makoto's feelings, then that's his own desire.
Though—Makoto isn't unreasonable to doubt his interest. Haru—mister "water for brains" himself—who crushed on a waterfall before a person. The whole problem with his classmate and her letter stemmed from how little attention he's paid to romance. His past indifference is biting him twice now. He cuts his gaze away, frowning like he's been teased. ]
I already agreed with you before. That a letter from the right guy would be... [ Well, okay. He's not going to use the same verbage. Cute. ] It'd be fine.
no subject
His smile complex, he canāt deny the stress that pools in his chest. There are years of safeguards here heās forced to undo, practically none which could be taken down in mere seconds. A rejection almost would have been easier, he thinks ruefully; at least that, he was prepared for. His eyes glance aside as he rubs his pounding heart. A small, audible sigh slips out of him, his fretting evident. Heās overwhelmed, but heās not doing either of them any favours by letting his timid heart have its way. Terribly, if this is his chance, he wants it to be perfect, but no about of breathing or waiting was going to still the inevitable shake in his voice.
So he stands, facing Haruāhe tries to stand up straight and instill confidence in himself, but a small, shy laughter quickly undoes his efforts. He slouches, his neck craned in turn, his shoulders high, and he smiles his very best: ]
Would... you like to go to the Aquarium with me, Haru? I think... thatās something couples like to do, right? Maybe next week....
[ Never mind that their brunch not-date is still in front of them. Too many years of subtlety and friendship, he realizes he needs something obvious. ]