Quadrennium
for isumiilde

Disclaimer: Free! Iwatobi Swim Club (c) Kyo-Ani.

When they graduate, they promise to maintain the close bonds of their friendship, no matter the distance that may separate them. At first, it sounds like an almost childish promise but when they remember when an ocean kept them apart, it's far too easy for them to make vows of remaining friends forever beneath the billowing pink petals of a cherry blossom tree.

Haruka stays in Iwatobi, choosing a ronin's path until half a year later, when he enrolls into a nearby junior college's art program. Nagisa and Rei will join their ranks as college students in a year's time. By then, Rin and Makoto will be in their second year of college. They make the choice to attend school in Tokyo. Even though they're going to different schools, Rin to Keio and Makoto to Gakushuin (by the skin of his teeth), they manage to stay in constant contact

"We're both the out of towners this time, so we definitely have to stick together," Rin explains during their first weekend away from home. It's his second go-round with being away from a familiar glistening coastline and the scent of mackerel and squid lingering everywhere so he sounds confident and experienced and Makoto can't help but trust him.

For their first six or seven months, their meet-ups are consistent. Weekly dinners at an izakaya here, or the occasional visit to the other's dorm there. They even join up to make monthly trips back to Iwatobi together. They grow close and study together. Just as promised.

Then Rin receives a call that changes his life forever.

Three reserve spots have opened up on the National Team and Rin is formally invited to try out for one of them.

It's still dark when Makoto's cell phone buzzes beneath his pillow and jolts him awake. 2:51 am. All decent people are in bed already. To call anyone that early and when he has a lecture later in the morning to boot should be a crime.

Makoto answers the call anyway. And without looking at the screen. He already knows who it is. "Rin,"he half-murmurs, half-groans. "It's like three in the morning."

"Oh, sorry, I forgot," Rin says, and he doesn't sound apologetic or even tired at all. He actually sounds giddy and breathless. Like he can't contain himself any longer, lest he might burst. He also sounds distant, like his smooth baritone's traveling through a funnel when he adds, "It's one in the afternoon here."

It occurs to Makoto that he hasn't seen him in like two weeks. Exams and last-minute projects are to blame."'Here'? Where are you?"

Maybe he's too sleep-deprived but he swears he can hear light reflecting off sharp teeth. "Guadalajara."

"Guada—what?" He butchers English enough already. No need for him to do that to Spanish, too. "Wait, you're—you're in Mexico?"

"Yup!" Rin laughs. Actually laughs.

For some reason, Makoto swings his legs off his bed and stuffs his cold feet into some slippers as he stands. He's wide awake now, though he's not sure of what he's going to do next. It's not as if he can just walk there. "What are you—what happened? I can't believe—are you okay?"

"I'm more than okay. Relax, Makoto."

Easy for him to say. "What's going on?"

"I'm at World's. Just as a reserve and I probably won't hop into the water or swim, but yeah, surprise! I'm here. At World's."

Surprise is right. Something heavy drops in Makoto's stomach first, forcing a stream of air upwards into his throat. World's. World Championships, Makoto's mind processes it slowly, though it hits him, and every part of him, blindingly fast.

"Makoto? You there...?"

"S-Sorry...I'm here. I just...can't."Knees buckling, Makoto slumps back onto his bed. "Wow. You're really on the team."

"You sound surprised."

Rin's teasing, Makoto knows this, but he can't help but concur, even though it shouldn't come as a shock. It's been Rin's dream since as long as he's known him—going on nearly ten years now—and he's worked harder than anyone else, has suffered through loss and tears and sweat, and who knows what else, to achieve it.

He's happy for him. But he can't help the uncertainty bubbling up in his stomach. It's not easy for him to swallow down the small slip of bile in his throat and smile and say,"I never doubted you. Congratulations! I'm very happy for you, Rin! I bet your family is very proud," but he manages.

"Um," Rin's mumbling and Makoto envisions him, blushing and pretending that he's not, "they don't know yet."

Oh.

"Actually," Rin's still kind of mumbling, "you're...the only one that knows. Well, besides Mikoshiba, but that's because he's already on the team. But other than him, you're the only one."

While it's not like with Haru, where the slightest flicker in his eyes or curl of his lips speaks volumes of what he's feeling and what he means, Rin comes close. Very close.You're the only one, in Rin speak means, you're the first person I thought of.

Something pricks at Makoto's eyes and he draws one knee up on the bed and hugs it close, wishing it was something—someone—else. "Rin..."

There's a long pause on the other line before Rin coughs into his fist. "Ah, listen to me, sounding all unsure and everything," he says with forced confidence. "I should call my mother. And Gou, before Mikoshiba blabs it to her."

"Yeah..."

There's another one of those lengthy pauses. "Makoto...?"

"Mm?"

"This—nothing's changed. Between us, I mean. You know that, right?"

Makoto smiles against the receiver. "I know."

They chat briefly, mostly about Rin's discovery of something delicious called mixiote and the balmy weather before they hang up a few moments later. Afterwards, Makoto climbs back into his bed and stares at his ceiling in the dark.

Everything's changed.

The following year, there are no major international swimming championships aside from one, so Team Japan uses the lull in activity to amp up their training.

As a result, Makoto sees less and less of Rin. What were once weekly meet-ups, at the very least, have turned to monthly visits, if they're lucky, and even then, Rin is too exhausted and sore to do anything besides curl up in Makoto's tiny bed and sleep. Their trips back to Iwatobi together have all but stopped, indefinitely.

In the meantime, they make do with brief phone calls and even briefer chats on Skype. But when they can be with each other, it's as if they're back home, not as children, but as young men back on the mend after years being apart with thousands of miles between them. Makoto will carefully update Rin on what he's missed—Haru's artwork is featured in a nationwide children's book series, Nagisa's starting to work towards a business degree, Rei's managed to get accepted into an elite study abroad program—then he'll notice the smile returning to Rin's eyes. Then he'll smile, too, and they'll go for late night walks, their arms resolutely at their sides in spite of their fidgeting; and just sometimes, maybe, their fingers hover a little too closely together, before slowly twining together...

And that's it.

That's all they remain. That's all they're destined to remain, Makoto believes. Rin'd probably do the same if it were Haru or Nagisa, or even Rei, here with him in Tokyo. It takes a while, but Makoto grows complacent with that arrangement. Even if just thinking of it makes something burn in his chest.

Gou corners him one day in a coffee shop in Ebisu, near her apartment, and insists he take care of her brother. She's finished her two-year college stint and has started working as an assistant manager in a fitness center favored by elite muscular athletes. She can't possibly keep tabs on Rin like she wants to. Or so she claims.

"He comes by for weight training but when he does he's in his own little world, and it feels like he's drifting far away even if he's right there. It's hard to explain,"she says with a shrug. Though it's plainly obvious she's using him as some sort of smokescreen, her words nevertheless strike a chord within him.

She doesn't need to explain. They aredrifting apart.

"I know," Makoto murmurs, his chin on his palm.

"So you'll do it?" She looks up at him, eyes shining with hope.

"It's hard—I don't know if there's anything I can do. But I'll try."

"Thank you, thank you!" Gou hugs him none-too-gently.

"Now," Makoto says smoothly and with a knowing look. "Mind telling me why we'rereally here?"

He's had enough practice being a big brother to know how to read into things. Even so, it doesn't prepare him for the moment when Gou bows her head, shyly reaches into her purse, then slides a small picture across the table. It's mostly black, with faint light slivers that make out a shape in the center.

Makoto recognizes what it is almost immediately. His eyes almost bulge out of their sockets. "Gou."

"Please don't tell oniichan!"

"You—I can't not tell him, Gou."

She stuffs the picture back into her purse, red-faced and looking ready to burst at the seams. "I know it's not easy and this is a lot to ask of you, but I just need you to keep him distracted while we get our situation straightened out. Just for about a month, two at the most. Please?"

"Why me?"Makoto's not sure if he even says it out loud. He's too busy shoving both palms against his face.

"Because if there's anyone that can distract him from anything, it's you. He said so himself."

A million reasons why he shouldn't do this flicker in and out of his brain at an alarming rate, yet all Makoto can focus on is that. That little tidbit. "He said that?"

"He says it all the time," Gou shakes her head. "But anyway, Makoto-san, can you do this for me? Please?"

It's you. He said so himself.

"Ah, sure. Sure..."

Not even a month later, Rin's relaxing from his most recent training camp in the comfort of Makoto's place and catching up on mail, a heating pad on his abdomen and his head pillowed by his host's lap. It's all familiar and right and perfect, up until he tears open a cute pink envelope and reads the card.

"What the ever living fuck—?"

"Language, Rin."Makoto sets his copy of Gray's Anatomy down. "What's the matter?"

"Mikoshiba and my sister are getting hitched? What the fuck?"

Then he's up in record time, grabbing his phone, and cursing up a storm, calling Mikoshiba every insult he can think of and telling him and Gou their timing couldn't be any worse because the Universiade's coming up and, dammit, Seijuurou—not Mikoshiba, no need for family names now—doesn't need any distractions. He never once tells them he's disappointed or even angry with their choice, and he even cries a little during their small civil ceremony months later.

They wait until Rin wins two silvers and a bronze—and a few hundredths of a second short at a world record—at the Universiade to tell Rin that he's going to be an uncle soon.

Makoto pretends to be surprised by everything the entire time.

–

Their final year of undergrad is a trying one. There's a slew of meets, not the least of which are the Asian Games and the World Championships and Makoto can count on one hand the number of times he actually gets to see Rin. In person, anyway.

Most often, Makoto catches glimpses of him on television, as bright and hopeful as the day he first saw him.

Japan's swimming team has been improving steadily during the quadrennium and their biggest star is Rin Matsuoka, their butterfly and freestyle specialist. Iwatobi's Shark, they call him. The media predicts he'll do well in the upcoming Olympics the following year and it's not unusual to find him gracing the cover of a sports magazine or doing some sort of televised fluff about the wonderful world of swimming or his insane training regimens. Mizuno plucks him as one of their spokesmen so he's been in a few of their commercials, much to the benefit of anyone that takes an eyeful of that body in skintight clothing.

Leading up to the World's, he's been on enough variety shows to gain a fangirl—and fanboy, but mostly fangirl—following. A serious one. With Mikoshiba on the same team and hailing from the same town, Iwatobi's grown as a very popular tourist spot.

It's strange, almost, how he's a celebrity to millions, yet no one outside their small, cherished group of friends knows he's a romantic at heart who can't sleep without his precious pillow.

"There's doujin? Really?" Nagisa asks during their group video call on Skype, the day of the World Championships. Thankfully, they're being held in Gwangju so the time difference isn't too bad. Except for Rei, who's yawning and fending off sleep with tea.

Haru shrugs, bites into what's presumably a hunk of mackerel. "Saw some for sale at a kiosk outside the book store in town."

"I wonder if any of them are yaoi."

"Nagisa-kun!" Rei stops in mid-yawn to scold him, to no avail.

"What?" Despite being several inches taller and some kilos heavier, the blond manages to look as innocent as the day they met. "I know you're thinking the same thing, Rei-chan. In fact, I bet you wish they had some out there at Cambridge."

"For the millionth time, it'sOxford," Rei scoffs and adjusts the fit of his glasses on his nose, attempting to look controlled and dignified. Even his grainy screen can't hide how red his face has become. "And no, I do not want any. Thank you."

"I can send you some," Haru offers, voice deadpan but intentions true. "The printer I work for can get me discounts."

Rei sputters on his tea."Haruka-senpai! No!"

"Are you sure?" Nagisa hums. "I bet they're all beautiful and—"

Before Nagisa and, by proxy, Haru can continue their needling, Makoto quickly interrupts and reminds them all that the heat Rin's participating in is about to begin.

Team Japan has an impressive showing at the World Championships. Individual and team gold eludes them but the swimmers and coaches are very happy with their bronze in the medley relay as well as the group's individual medal counts. Rin racks up an impressive three—silver in both the 100m and 200m butterfly and bronze in the 100m freestyle. His brother-in-law won the silver in that. It's a major shock for everyone to see two Japanese on the podium for the same event.

"You guys, Iwatobi is losing its collective shit right now," Nagisa announces gleefully after the last race is over. "They're letting off fireworks and everything. It's crazy!"

Haru nods, concurring, and smiles fondly. Rei smiles too, murmuring his wish to be there in person, because it's sure to be a beautiful sight.

Makoto agrees.

Rin's out of breath while his body is still firing on all cylinders when a Japanese reporter corners him for a post-race interview. The usual questions follow—how do you feel, what was going through your head, did you think you ever had a chance against the Americans and Aussies—until Rin, coming down from his high, blathers on, the words uninhibited.

"Thank you, to everyone!" he shouts in between breaths and tears and has to stop to regain his composure. "Thanks to everyone who's been supportive of our team, at home and across the globe, and thanks to everyone who gave me, a boy from Iwatobi—" Makoto's sure if Iwatobi wasn't losing its shit before, it's definitely doing so now— "the chance to live out his boyhood dream."

And just when most athletes would bow and end things Rin continues on, and he's looking directly at the camera now instead of at the reporter. He's smiling and it's not the smirk he's known for. "Most of all, this is for Makoto. I hope you're watching. Thank you for always being there!"

The interview ends when Mikoshiba runs in and all but tackles Rin. The reporter laughs and signs off to those watching at home.

Meanwhile, the Skype chat has gone quieter than a cemetery. Even Nagisa, who Makoto would have expected to require tranquilizers, is sitting still, not uttering a single peep.

Shit, Makoto wants to say. He wants to hang up, turn everything off, dive onto his bed and bury his face into his pillow and scream into it. And maybe disappear. No, he's pretty sure he wants to do that. But not before reaching in through his screen and grabbing Rin and hugging him and kissing him. And killing him.

Everything, except explain this to his best friends.

Of course, they're there, with anticipative looks.

"Um." He rubs his neck. "It's...not what it sounds like?"

–

Except it is everything that it sounds like.

At least, Makoto hopes it is.

–

Rin shows up at Makoto's doorstep two weeks later, a few minutes shy of midnight. His hair's tucked beneath a baseball hat, the bill pulled low over his eyes. He's wearing dark, nondescript clothing. Probably to avoid being recognized.

He reeks of chlorine.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course, come in," Makoto urges him inside quickly. The last thing he wants is for some paparazzo to spot Japan's latest sports star wandering into his apartment in the middle of the night. He can see the Friday magazine headlines already: Iwatobi's Shark Wanders Into Unknown Man's Pod.

It's quiet inside of the apartment. Makoto gestures for Rin to sit and asks him to pardon the magazines—many of which feature Rin himself, in some capacity—spread out over the kotatsu. He ducks into the kitchen for some tea, all the while pretending to not notice the big elephant in the room.

"Is the television new? I haven't been here since you moved in," Rin says awkwardly.

"Ah, yeah, my folks got it for me not long after that. It has satellite." That's how he was able to watch all of Rin's competitions, actually. "I know it's late, but did you want to watch something?"

"Nah, just wondering..."

Makoto joins him in the living room a few moments later, empty-handed. "Sorry, it's not done. If I knew you were coming, I would have put the kettle on a while back..."

"Stop apologizing," Rin snorts, removing his cap and combs his fingers back through his hair. It's a simple gesture he's done dozens of times over, but it's the first time Makoto stares and wishes it was his own hand carding through those strands instead.

"If anything," Rin continues, "it's me that should apologize. I just kinda...showed up, unannounced."

"It's okay."

"I have to something to say," Rin says abruptly and fear forces its way into Makoto's limbs, his chest.

On top of being quiet, it's uncomfortable in the apartment now. Never a good combination. Unable to withstand it, Makoto shoots up to his feet. A shrill whistling—the kettle—in the kitchen provides an excellent distraction. "I'll go get the—"

Rin's hand snaps up and latches onto Makoto's wrist with a vice-like grip that softens almost immediately, and just like that, every attempt at an escape is crushed. "Wait. Please."

"But the tea—"

Unbothered, Rin looks at him directly, not quite angry but not very idyllic, either. "Makoto. Aren't you even wondering why I'm here?"

Slowly, Makoto crumbles down to a seat beside him, Rin's hand never leaving its perch over the pulse of his wrist. "No..." And it's true. Rin's never needed an excuse to come see him. "I mean, you know you can come visit me whenever you want for any reason you want. You have your lucky toothbrush and pillow here..."

Rin snags his fingers through his hair with his free hand. "No, I mean, yes—fuck." He's practically doubled over the kotatsu when he looks up, face desperate. "I came to apologize to you."

"I don't see why you feel the need to? You didn't do anything wrong...?"

For some reason, Rin smiles. Weakly. "Not even embarrassing you on international television?"

"Ah. Um. Well," Makoto clears his throat, "aside from the links and fanart Nagisa sent me, it wasn't that bad..."

"There's fanart?"

Remembering just how explicit some of said fanart had been (even though the artists never knew what the now-famous and mysterious "Makoto" looked like to begin with), Makoto feels the need to hide his blush, somehow, with his hands. "...doujinshi, too."

Rin cracks into a laugh and in spite of himself, Makoto laughs along with him, and things finally settle down and away from that precipice of unfamiliarity that shouldn't have been there to begin with.

Then, Rin looks down, shyly, and Makoto follows his gaze to their twined hands. There are contrasts between their fingers both stark and minimal in their pallor, their length and shape, the number of calluses (or lack thereof). Even their cuticles don't match. In spite of their differences, Makoto can't imagine a better fit for himself.

"I mean it, you know," Rin murmurs. "Every last word I said. I'm not even sorry I said those things—I'm just...sorry it took so long."

"It's—" Makoto stops himself from saying 'okay' when he hears Rin snort. When he thinks about it, it's more than just okay. Pensively, he rubs his thumb along the delicate web of flesh between Rin's thumb and forefinger. "...I kind of knew, deep down, because I would have done the same thing had it been me out there."

Rin looks up, one eyebrow tipped in challenge. "Is that so?"

Surprising even himself, Makoto doesn't back down, only offering up a tiny grin in return. The glide of his finger moves over Rin's white knuckles, favoring the one just before the pinky. "Yeah."

"Then how about this..." Rin scoots closer to him till the heat of his body is flush against the side of Makoto's own. It burns, but in a good way. Makoto thinks he can easily get used to it."Remember when we first came out here to Tokyo after high school and I said we should stick together?"

"Mmhm." Not prompted, Makoto turns his head just so, and tucks Rin's head beneath his chin. "Of course I remember."

"And remember, how we did stick," Rin's voice goes soft like water, "even though there were plenty of times you could have given me the boot and just gone off to do your own thing, but for some crazy reason you didn't?"

Makoto feels his small laugh reverberate through Rin's body. "We made a promise under a cherry tree. I'd never break it, Rin."

Mortified, Rin groans and buries his face against the side of Makoto's throat. "Right. That. Well...I didn't think about it then, but I've thought about it some more, shortly after World's and pretty much the entire way here..."

Rin tilts his head back, just slightly enough so that Makoto can peer down and catch a glimpse of Rin's eyes and the tiniest glimmer of vulnerable hope shining in them. "...and I was sort of thinking...maybe...something more longterm."

Afterwards, Rin squeezes him tight, pressing his face into him again as if in early protest or to reinforce the strength of his words, or to simply make himself disappear.

Makoto himself doesn't know. He's too busy trying to remember how to speak over the thundering beat of his pulse without bursting into a sob or, worse, a pathetic little squeak. All he can do is lean back and tilts Rin's head for him so that they're facing eye to eye.

"Rin..."

With a cringe, Rin tries to pull away from their entanglement."Nevermind, it's dumb and we're too busy and—"

On a wave of something purely physical and completely foreign to him, Makoto leans down and, bumping their foreheads together first, kisses him square on the mouth. He breathes in the heady mix of chlorine, designer cologne and the vague hint of sweat as Rin kisses him back like he does everything in life—thoroughly and without room for error.

One of them pulls back first some time after that, Makoto's not sure which. He only knows it's Rin who speaks first, of course.

"Everything's going to change, you know." Even so, Rin's hands are unsteady and desperate as they pull at Makoto's clothes and untuck his shirt.

"I know."

They don't make it beyond the living room floor.

The kettle boils dry.

The following year, Rin competes in the Olympics. With the world watching and with Makoto in the stands screaming himself hoarse, he wins gold to match the bands around their fingers.

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