[ 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
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. ]