[ 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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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? ]