A/N: Written for the holding hands prompt for the makoharu festival on tumblr. Not sure if I'm happy with the way this seems to be drabble-ish but it turned out that way so I guess that's that...

For as long as Makoto can remember, the warmth of Haru's fingers laced through his own is a constant, familiar thing.

In fact, one of his earliest memories is of Haru's back in front of him as he tugs Makoto down the shrine stairs. He doesn't even remember why they had been running, but the most vivid thing about that particular memory had been the feeling of Haru's then-larger hand gripping Makoto's tightly.

He never really questions why holding Haru's hand comes as easily as breathing. Why would he? It's only natural to want to hold your best friend's hand, isn't it?

Turns out it isn't.

Out of all people, it's Matsuoka Rin who makes him realize that. One muggy afternoon during the lull between classes on a day that Haru is absent due to a fever, Matsuoka-kun had come up to him.

At first, he doesn't really pay attention because he's busy trying not to look behind him at Haru's empty seat. His fingers start twitching, trying to reach for a hand that isn't there.

It's not like he has a hard time dealing with Matsuoka-kun; it's just that having Haru there—even if he hardly speaks more than a few sharp words—makes it so much easier to deal with new and unfamiliar things. Things like transfer students talking to him so suddenly that he hadn't had time to brace himself.

It's a little scary—talking with someone he had only just met a few days ago, that is. Most of his classmates had been people he had been seeing in town for years, and now here comes Matsuoka-kun with his toothy smile raising a metaphorical hurricane in the quiet peace of Iwatobi Middle School.

"—bana? Hey, are you listening to me?"

A hand waving in front of his face makes him flinch. He looks up at Matsuoka-kun leaning over him with his arm braced against Makoto's table.

"Um, sorry?" He chuckles weakly. "Could you repeat...?"

To his credit, Matsuoka-kun doesn't show irritation at his absent-mindedness. He seems to just brush it off so easily, and it's a bit like the way Haru allows him to have his moments when he gets lost in his thoughts. Some of his apprehension fades, but not enough, he thinks.

He grips the edge of the wooden table, and wills himself to ease into the conversation. It's irrational to be panicking over something as trivial as this. At least, that's what he tells himself.

"Anyway, I was asking about the swim club." Matsuoka-kun doesn't seem to be aware of his inner struggles, which is a small blessing because he'd rather not have his recent attempts of shedding his scaredy-cat reputation go to waste so soon.

"The swim club?"

"Yeah! You're in it, right?"

A rush fills him then leaves his lungs in one whoosh of a breath. He's back on familiar territory, so his mind clears enough for him to remember occasionally seeing Matsuoka-kun during swimming meets.

In his relief, he reaches out and grabs the hand in front of him. Haru's name is already forming on his lips when a strangled gasp from a voice that is decidedly not-Haru makes him balk.

Ah! I forgot that Haru-chan isn't here today!

"E-eh? Tachibana, what are you doing?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry!"

That day, Makoto comes to two realizations, one of which concerning something that he probably should have thought of earlier.

One: Matsuoka-kun is surprisingly romantic. And not scary at all. Maybe after talking a bit more, they can be friends.

Two: Holding hands is for couples and family, with a few exceptions in between. Makoto just isn't quite sure where Haru fits in there, but he has to be there somewhere, right? He's never really stopped to consider why they hold hands; all he knows is that they do and it's not a bad thing at all.

Then, after a fair bit of long-winded thinking, he supposes he'd better add a third one that shouldn't really count since he'd known it for a while now, but since he's tallying everything up, he might as well tack it on at the end.

Three: He likes holding Haru-chan's hand.

That night, as he stares out his window across to the light flickering behind the curtains of Haru's bedroom window, he wonders if Haru likes holding his hand too.

Despite what Rin had said—or maybe it's precisely because of his words—they never really stop holding hands. They just become more discreet about it, and as time passes, Makoto manages to find thousands of different ways to hide their linked hands in plain sight. It even becomes sort of a game between him and Haru, with the objective being to see how many people they can fool into thinking that they're just sitting side-by-side when in fact, Haru's hand is cradled gently in the curve of Makoto's palm.

There is that one time when they had been watching Atlantis with the twins in Makoto's bedroom. Haru had draped a blanket over his right hand then he'd sent Makoto a very pointed glance that can only have meant one thing.

Hurry up and come over here already.

Then whenever one of the many festivals held in Iwatobi rolls around, they would wear their yukatas and it's always so easy to hide their clasped hands in the loose blue and green clothes that they're wearing that they often spend the whole time practically glued to each other's side.

They're rarely caught, and whenever someone does manage to spot them holding hands, it never really becomes a big issue.

Their 'games' become rarer and rarer after Haru quits swimming competitively, but they never really disappear. Haru's eyes grow dimmer, but there's still a flickering ember in their depths that gives Makoto hope that Haru will come out of the darkness on his own.

Makoto supposes that unwavering hope of his is something to be grateful for—that and the fact that pieces of the former Haru shine through when he tells people off for commenting too casually on their relationship. Although it's a bit embarassing that a lot of people assume that they're a couple when really, neither of them are quite sure what exactly they are to each other.

They never actually get around to talking about it.

Later, is what he always tells himself. He always finds an excuse, and he's gotten pretty good at convincing himself that it's concern for Haru and not his own weak-heartedness that stills his tongue whenever he tries to talk about their relationship.

Then, after all that had happened—first with the training camp then regionals then the relay with Rin and the others—after everything they experience, the light comes back to Haru's eyes, and it's such a sight to see that Makoto can't tear his gaze away.

It's only when Haru—his Haru, the one who always remembers to look to see if Makoto is still there—is finally back that Makoto realises how much he had missed the warmth of Haru's smile. He had noticed—of course he had—when Haru had retreated into himself, and he had done the only thing he had known: he had waited for Haru to be ready to reach out, making sure that when he does, he's there to offer him a helping hand.

Then, it becomes even harder to say anything because he's never entirely sure he can find the right words to capture everything he feels for Haru. Then, once he sees that Haru has grown up into someone a whole lot more brilliant and amazing than his former self—which his younger self never would have thought was possible because Haru-chan is perfect and there's should be no way you can improve on perfection, right?—his cowardice rears its head and crushes his words before they even have a chance to take form.

So for every time he fails to convey his feelings, he takes comfort in the feel of callused fingers sliding into the spaces between his knuckles. Even if he thinks he's not good enough, as long as Haru sees him as a friend worthy of the effort of putting up with his occasional bouts of self-doubt and weakness, he thinks that it's not so bad after all.

At least, he thinks as Haru closes the gap between their palms, I'll always have this.

After that first joint practice with Samezuka after the relay, things with Rin get a whole lot better, to the point that calling him becomes an almost daily habit.

It seems living in Australia hasn't changed Rin's penchant for romanticism, and it's only a few weeks after that fateful relay that he becomes convinced that him and Haru should just hurry up and get married already.

Those are Rin's words, of course, although Makoto may or may not have omitted a few choice curse words because apparently, Australia has that kind of effect on people.

In the end though, it's Rin again who finds the words that set Makoto's thoughts on the right track.

"Listen up, Makoto. Stop being a fucking martyr and man up. If you don't start accepting that you have flaws just like all of us, then you have no business going about pining after Haru."

"I don't do that!"

"Yeah, right. Anyway, work out your self-esteem issues first because I, for one, would have a hard time being in a relationship with someone who constantly thinks he's not good enough."

"…you think Haru thinks that way?"

"I don't know. Maybe. But it's a bit unfair on him to keep having to baby you, don't you think?"

"I—"

"Look, I'm not saying this to be mean. I'm trying to help—God, I sound like a fucking therapist! Good night!

To be honest, Makoto thinks his desire to hold Haru's hand probably stems from his need for comfort, and he's probably known that in his heart from day one.

He chooses one particularly bright spring morning to ask Haru if his wishy-washiness is too much of a burden. Or he tries to, at least.

"Haru..."

"What?"

"…never mind. It's nothing."

Okay, so maybe he hadn't tried all that hard after all. It seems it takes a lot more courage than Makoto has in himself to voice such deep-rooted issues, even to someone he's known for practically his whole life.

To soothe his frantic heartbeat, he seeks out the comfort of Haru's warm hand.

I guess this is as far as I can go.

Then one sticky summer afternoon before practice, while they are changing into their swimwear in relative peace due to the first-years being busy with class duties, Haru impatiently pulls him aside in the locker room and kisses him so deeply it takes his breath away.

The cries of the cicadas outside grow to a sharp crescendo, but all Makoto's ears can catch are the sounds of Haru's kissing him.

Makoto had thought he had been happy with being able to hold Haru's hand, but that's just because he hadn't known how good it would feel to have Haru pressed up against him, how the faint taste of mackerel and Haru on his tongue sends shivers down his spine.

Apparently, there is a fine line between merely being satisfied and being happy, and he had unwittingly been walking along it for years, never knowing that he's always been no more than a few words away from having what he had been secretly set his heart on for as long as he can remember.

When Haru finally pulls away after what seems like too short of a time, Makoto stammers out a breathless question.

"Why?"

"I wanted to."

In hindsight, what follows in the days after is just the natural progression of their relationship. Physical contact had never been an issue, and sharing things between them had always been a given, so it's only natural that falling into this kind of relationship—the kind that comes with kissing and a whole lot more intimacy—is the next

step.

It's only natural, Makoto thinks as Haru leaves a wet trail of open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat, that you're the only one I can love this much.

It's only natural, of course, that Haru easily soothes his worries over being inadequate with a few simple words. In expressing himself, he seems strangely eloquent, as if he's been turning the words over and over in his head for some time now.

"I don't need you to be strong, because I'm not as perfect as you think I am," Haru says.

He reaches up to brush a few brown locks away from Makoto's forehead before pressing a chaste kiss to it. It's such an innocent gesture compared to their prior activities, but it makes Makoto's heart beat just as fast.

Then, just when he thinks that there's absolutely no way Haru can be more beautiful than this, Haru's next words prove him wrong.

"Just walk beside me. That's all I want."

All this time, he had seen Haru holding his hand as an act of comfort when in fact, he should also have been seeing it as a reminder that they walk together on the same path, moving towards the uncertain future with the same comfortable pace.

Because that's what it's always meant—I'm here with you. It's not one-sided; it's one of the many symbols of their partnership—their bond that they've both nurtured until it's grown to this powerful force that clenches at his heart in that sweet, sweet way when Haru smiles at him.

Makoto tangles his fingers with Haru's, pressing it further into the mattress under them as he kisses Haru senseless.

What happens behind closed doors is a secret shared only between the two of them.

"Makoto? Is there something weird on my face?"

Haru squints, trying to peer at his own face. Makoto hadn't meant to stare so blatantly at the boy, but it seems that his eyes have a way of wandering to Haru on their own.

There's nothing on his face, of course, because Haru is not anything but meticulous when preparing mackerel, but Makoto takes this opportunity to let his fingertips linger on Haru's cheek.

"There, all gone." Makoto smiles at Haru.

"Thanks."

From the small smile playing upon Haru's lips, his little deception hadn't gone unnoticed. But it's these kinds of seemingly trivial things—when Haru spoils him in his own way—that makes Makoto fall a little bit more in love with him.

Haru turns back to flipping the mackerel on the grill. It sizzles loudly, so Makoto steps back from the heat to avoid oil splatters. He shivers in the cold air coming in from the window, eyes drawn towards the overcast sky outside.

It's been a few months since Haru had first kissed him, and the summer heat had frozen into the chill of winter. They hadn't had their first snowfall yet, but it's only a matter of time, Makoto thinks.

"Makoto."

"Hmm?"

"I think we should tell them tomorrow."

Makoto quirks his head in confusion. He tries to follow Haru's train of thought, his brow furrowing in concentration.

"Tell who? What? Haru-"

"Nagisa and Rei and Gou. And Rin too, I guess. We'll tell them about us."

"Us?"

From the slight reddening of the tips of Haru's ears, Makoto already has an inkling of what they're talking about, but he wants to hear it directly from Haru's lips.

"Us." Haru gestures to the two of them.

"And what are we, exactly?"

Makoto wonders what label Haru would choose for whatever it is that they have between them.

Haru's answer surprises him.

"We're together."

For as long as Makoto can remember, holding Haru's hand is a constant thing. It never really changes, because why would it?

The morning sunlight is warm against his cheeks—a clear contrast against the chilling wind. The weight of Haru's hand in his as they make their way to school under a shared umbrella in the midst of a slow shower of snowflakes is a physical reminder of their feelings for each other.

The first snow of the year drifts down on Iwatobi, and everything is muted under the thin layer of frost. Haru leans against Makoto's side, his hand curling tighter around Makoto's fingers.

"It's cold," he murmurs.

"Come closer then so we can both stay warm."

Just like that, side by side, their hands intertwined, they slowly tread their way down the shrine steps.