A/N: I'm working on so many MakoHaru fics right now it is not even funny. The lengths I go to, for my OTP. What has my life turned into, I ask myself over and over. But anyway. This was actually inspired by a fanart I saw on pixiv; I don't have the link, nor did I save the picture, but I remember it clearly – it was just a set of drawings of Makoto and Haru, from babies all the way to adulthood (think 30s or something) and how they called each other. So, when they were around 20-something or so, Makoto calls Haruka 'Nanase-kun', looking a bit sad, it's as though they've drifted apart since high school, and that made me all depressed and so I wrote a fic, LOL. I thought it'd be a great idea to take a look at what it'll be like for a pair of best friends, ten years down the road, and I know this topic well – I've had my share of best friends in high school, whom I doubt I'll be able to even recognize right now, and the very idea is so terribly sad and relatable for many of us, I think.

This is, so far, the longest one-shot I've written, and I did not check it more than twice, so please excuse the embarrassing errors, if any. And enjoy! (:

"Things will be far worse than they are now.

And far better. I wait."

- Charles Bukowski.

Ten more minutes. And then I'll go.

Outside, the snow sweeps against a blue-black sky, a messy dance of frost and vapor. The cup of coffee before him is already half-empty and cold beneath his hands. Makoto rests his temple upon the glass pane and stares beyond, at the white and blue of the world outside, and at the stars he imagine that sit behind the veil of clouds, waiting for spring to come. Just patiently waiting. With the hope of the coming tomorrow.

Thirty mintues pass but he's long forgotten the promise he's made to himself.

It'll be fine, he thinks, leaning across the table to face an imaginary companion.

The bell at the cafe entrance rings several times that evening with the coming and going of customers, but none of them herald the arrival of the one he waits for.

It'll be fine, he repeats to himself. Haru is going to come.

~ooo~

The beginnings of an unruly winter nip at the hem of his coat, and Makoto buries his hands deeper into the warmth of his pockets. He cannot wait to get home. Life is a waiting game, indeed, he muses, as he gets into line at the platform. Salary men, decked in black and white, fill up the queues, like good little robots.

He contemplates having take-out again, as the train pulls over at the station and he's being packed into it so tightly he can barely move his arms out to hold on to something. Yet another week has passed, he thinks. Just a mindless trudging along the passage of life, without anything to look forward to, nothing to really live for, except the tapping sound of keyboards day in, day out, and the ring of money as it enters his bank account. He makes a mental note to transfer some back home this weekend; someone has to pay for his siblings' school fees, after all.

It's been ten years since he's moved on from his small hometown to pursue bigger things. Who would have thought, the contented, modest Makoto, ever leaving the comfort of Iwatobi, for a shot at something brighter in the big city of Tokyo? It was an ambitious idea, at first, a mere seedling of a thought, that rooted in for good once he got a scholarship to the university there, together with a promise of a stable job by the end of it. Everyone he knew was thrilled, if not, a little ruffled by the fact that they were not kids anymore and the parting of ways was inevitable, in the long run.

And of course, there was Haru.

Haru understood the worth of freedom the most, and this led Makoto into thinking that perhaps he'd understand the reason for his decision. How wrong that turned out to be.

Leaving was not an easy thing, and out of every possible aspect, Haru was the one who made it the most difficult. It did not come as a surprise, really, but pacifying him to acceptance was the hardest thing Makoto had ever been burdened with. After all, Makoto was the anchor to his ship, the port to his sea, and having him go away was like separating two halves of the same person. The attachment was too dear, too precious, for it to be weathered over such a long distance.

However, Makoto already had it all planned out; they'd meet every few months and spend time together, as was the norm, and get back on track with their own lives after that. At least that was what Makoto thought. A test of faith, to see how they'd fair.

Time is cruel, as it is daunting; life catches up on them, and monthly gatherings become yearly ones, frequent messages become apologetic texts in the middle of meetings, and slowly but surely, the gap between them widens until all Makoto sees is a big, black ditch, where his ocean used to be. It's more terrifying than drowning, this detachment. There are times when he still wonders how he could have made such a decision so easily. The look of hurt and betrayal on Haru's face haunts him still, and he often imagines what it'll be like, had he stayed behind in Iwatobi.

Having to look out for Haru, speaking up for Haru, Makoto does all these knowing that Haru can very well stand his own ground; it is he who isn't sure, if he can get by without having his best friend at his side. It is he who has to find that strength to stand on his own.

Haruka valued his freedom, and Makoto felt as though he might take that away too, someday, if he chose to stay.

But he is tired of waiting, and perhaps it is time to move on.

The train stops at his station, and he trudges along the long-memorized route towards his apartment. He's been living here so long, and yet he can never quite get used to the frigidness of life in the city. Well, nothing he cannot handle on his own.

On the way back, he stocks up a dozen cans of tinned mackerel, and disregards the thought as to why.

~ooo~

There's a typhoon that day, and he calls back home to check in on everyone. Other than that, the day's just as normal and bland as the rest, and Makoto climbs onto the platform of his train.

His girlfriend is waiting for him at the usual cafe, four stops away. It's been half a year since they'd started dating, and she wants to celebrate; Makoto's always had a thing for black-haired, blue-eyed beauties, so he complies readily, even though he's just aching for a quick ramen and a long, hot bath on this Thursday night.

Before he gets on the train, he removes the miniature orca keychain hanging off his briefcase and pockets it. His girlfriend doesn't quite like him keeping gifts from 'old flames' (even though he's already explained that it was a gift from someone special), and for a long time now has been nagging at him to get rid of it. Haru isn't exactly an ex, and Makoto's grown fond of the little toy anyway, because it reminds him of the rest of the gang. It's probably going to take another ten years or more for him to simply throw it away.

He gets off at Ueno station for the transfer, easily towering above the rest of the crowd. Offhandedly, he reaches into the back pocket where his wallet is, thinking that he should at least get some flowers along the way. Something blue, maybe, since they are her favorite color.

The train on the opposite platform grinds to a halt, and the passengers exit, filling up the already-crowded area. Makoto picks up the pace towards the stairs, not wanting to be caught in the onslaught of human traffic. But his body freezes anyway, seemingly of its own accord, feet dragging to an abrupt stop in the middle of the crowd, and it really doesn't matter, when people roughly push past him and stare at him rudely for blocking the way. Not when the love of his childhood is standing, just a stone's throw away.

Even though they haven't seen each other in years, Makoto knows he'll recognize him anywhere, in any lifetime. Dark-haired, blue-eyed, silent and pensive. There is no mistaking it.

Nanase Haruka appears, and throws Makoto's stagnant world into an array of chaos. A train wreck, is what it is.

No... How? Not here. It can't be.

Haruka never liked big crowds of people, the whole hustle and bustle of city life. What would he be doing here now, of all times? Why didn't he contact Makoto? Why didn't anyone tell him Haru was coming to Tokyo? Maybe they aren't even considered friends anymore. With all the years of his absence, Makoto is sure he isn't quite worthy either. And maybe it isn't even Haru, after all.

The man raises his head and turns toward his direction, as though having sensed the piercing stare, and Makoto's vision is suddenly swathed in the memory of Haruka's eyes and how brilliant a blue they are. So lovely a shade – like the color of the ocean during spring, or the sky after a storm, but they are none of these, for none of these can ever compare to how beautiful, how enchanting, the real thing is.

Makoto stands there dumbly, admiring from afar. Haru's gotten skinnier from when he last remembers. He's lost some of the muscle from all the training they've done in high school, but he appears lean and steady, under that dusty grey coat. Makoto wonders if he still wears those jammers underneath his clothes, ready to dive into whichever body of water at the drop of a hat. Does he still swim, even?

I know nothing about you, anymore, he thinks sadly.

"Haru," he says, mostly to himself. It's too soft to be heard over the sound of other people talking. He's about to take a step forward, when a group of students block his way, and Haru is gone, just like that. He's lost him twice already.

"Haru," he calls again, in the relative direction where Haru was standing. "Haru!"

Did Haru see him? Did he run away because he did?

Makoto goes to stand, at the exact spot where Haruka disappeared, and wonders if this was how Haruka felt, when Makoto left him behind that day. The very thought makes his head drone in pain. He's never wanted to hurt Haruka, not ever on purpose.

He forgets about bringing the flowers, and apologizes to his girlfriend for being late. During dinner, she chats and chats, and he's hardly listening, because all he's thinking of is how he's going to catch a glimpse of Haruka again tomorrow. Hugging his arm, she leans into him, dark hair brushing Makoto's forearm; he almost remembers the feel of Haruka's hair between his fingertips, and berates himself for even thinking it.

Back at home, he removes the orca keychain from the pocket of his coat, and a sudden wave of guilt hits him with the strength of a typhoon.

~ooo~

If it was Haruka he saw the day before, he wants to make sure, on his own. He doesn't contact anyone from the old gang about it, and he's not quite sure why. He feels as though he's living in a daze, and the only way to escape it is if he sees Haru again with his own eyes.

Makoto finds himself waiting on bated breath along the JR Line platform where he last saw his friend. It's almost seven-thirty – the train pulls in on time, sending the usual mass of people rushing past him. It's harder than he thought it would be. He walks briskly along the entire row of train doors, searching the crowd of faces for the one face he will never come to forget. His heart thumps madly against his ribcage, when he notices the familiar back – he doesn't even know what to say, how to act, if it really does turn out to be Haru, but despite this, his feet carry him quicker towards the other, until they are just a feet away.

"Haru," he calls out calmly, in spite of his racing heartbeat and jumbled thoughts.

Makoto pulls him by the arm, turning Haruka around to face him, and for a moment Makoto finds himself staring into the eyes of a stranger. And it's not because it really isn't Haru – Haru's right there, wide-eyed and jolting with the shock. It's Haru for sure, but a different one.

"Haru... ka," he says it again. He doesn't deserve to call Haru the way he did so intimately before. Things have changed. They are not the same boys they were ten years ago.

"Makoto," Haruka says, almost like a whisper, and his eyes widen even more so at the revelation.

He looks like he's about to cry, or shout, or punch him maybe, and Makoto won't mind it at all. Whatever Haruka does, he will always accept without thinking.

Haruka has never been one for words, so Makoto takes it upon himself to start first. "Haruka, it's really you? I can't believe it – you... you didn't tell me you were coming to Tokyo. H-how've you been? It's... how long has it been, seven – eight years?"

The arm he's been holding all this while starts to shake, and Makoto knows he's done something wrong.

"It's..." Haruka regains his composure, but withdraws his arms into himself, trembling slightly, and it's not from the cold. "It's good to see you again, Makoto." And whether it's a lie or not, Makoto cannot tell. He can't read him anymore, not like he used to, and it disturbs him to some extent. "You look well."

It hurts, so damn much.

"Yeah, you look great too."

"Do... Does Makoto live around here, too?" Haruka asks, looking away.

"Ah, not exactly," he admits, wondering how he should go about twisting the facts.

"Oh," Haruka says, and adjusts his coat a bit. "Well, I'm headed this way, so..."

No. Makoto doesn't want him to leave, even if this Haru seems bent on escaping him.

"H-hey, wait!" He hastily grabs the other's hand, and a strange current travels up his arm and right to his chest.

The old him would have let go, would have said his goodbyes and went on his way, passive and accommodating to a fault – a coward to his emotions. But Haru's not the only one who's changed.

"Do you... still use the same phone number?" he asks.

Haruka looks so tense, so unlike the cool, collected boy he used to know, that Makoto stifles the urge to just pull him into a hug. "I changed it," he replies quietly. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry for anything." The words leave Makoto's mouth before he knows it. "I-I mean, it's alright. It's fine. We should exchange numbers – that is to say, if you're okay with that."

Haruka looks at him inquisitively for a while, before simmering into a more nonchalant state. "Yeah. Okay."

They exchange numbers in awkward silence. Haruka carrying a phone around? Priceless. Makoto looks at him carefully, at this older Haruka's matured face – his firm jawline, the way his hair is worn a little shorter now – and how attractive he's become. Well, to Makoto, Haruka has always been attractive, but it's been such a long time since they've last looked at each other, really.

"Are you done?" Haruka asks, sending a jolt down Makoto's spine as he flinches back. "Saving my number, I mean."

"O-oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm done."

"So," Haruka pockets his phone, and looks off to the side, "see you around, then."

He turns around to leave, but Makoto is having none of that. He surprises the both of them by standing at the foot of the stair, blocking the way.

"What?" Haruka says, after a moment of confused silence.

"Let's have dinner sometime, alright?" Makoto suggests, but really, he doesn't even know where he's going with this. "My treat."

By the look on his face, Makoto can tell, Haru's fighting with himself inside, trapped with nowhere to go. He almost feels guilty about imposing this on the other so suddenly. He must seem quite desperate, in fact. But to hell with his pride. He is not letting Haruka out of his sight again. He is going to mend the broken pieces of their friendship even if it costs him his dignity.

"How does next Thursday night sound?" he continues, deciding for them. "We can meet here at around this time. I know a place nearby – you'll like it, I promise."

Haruka obliges, much to his satisfaction. Makoto feels like a high school kid again, getting that warm fluttering feeling inside his stomach from asking his crush out on their first date. Although, Haruka is more of a childhood sweetheart, more than anything. He likes the ring to that. Childhood sweetheart. But what is he to Haruka now?

Makoto lets him go eventually, and they bid their goodnights.

It'll be alright, even if Haruka refuses to turn up on the day itself, he thinks. He'll try again the next week, and the next, until Haru has no choice but to comply or move out of Tokyo entirely because Makoto will not let him go – will never let him go – until they've sorted things out between them. Whatever that could be.

He reaches home, and the first text he receives is from his girlfriend. Something about a pretty handbag she's seen the other day with her friends. Nothing of utter importance, but the reality hits him hard; he and Haru are living separate lives now – they have new people, new standards, new outlooks in life altogether – the thought that Haru could be dating someone else has never even come across his mind until now. What were the chances, though? If Haruka has been more or less the same person as he was ten years ago, then it'll be hard to imagine. But what if Haruka caught someone's eye? What if he'd found someone just like Makoto, only someone who never wanted to leave? The thought kills him, and Makoto can only sink to the bottom of his tub, to try and find the same comfort Haru does when submerged like this.

It's never worked. Not ten years ago, not now.

It'll be better tomorrow, he thinks, and rises to the surface.

~ooo~

Makoto barely makes it through half the week, plagued with worries and woes. It's Tuesday night, and he cannot bear to wait another two days more to have his questions answered.

He sifts through his phone contacts, pausing for a moment on 'H' for Haruka (self-congratulating himself for having obtained it), and eventually scrolling downwards to the 'N'. If there's someone back at Iwatobi who's well-informed about the old gang and their current happenings (read: gossip-loving), then it has to be the one and only Nagisa Hazuki. He contemplates between him and Rei, wondering who would be the one to let him off without prying about it, and goes against his better judgement anyway, calling up Nagisa.

The phone doesn't even go beyond two full rings before it is answered.

"Hello?" A boyishly innocent voice speaks up from the other end. "Is this... Mako-chan?"

"Nagisa," he greets, smiling through his tone. "Long time no hear."

There is a dramatic pause over at the other side before his ear is practically assaulted by a loud clamor. "Oh my god, it really is you!" Nagisa cheers. "Mako-chan, Mako-chan – can I still call you that? Mako-chan, how've you been? How's life? Are you still living in Tokyo? Oh wait, why are you calling – oh my god, what happened? Is it a tsunami? Earthquake? Mako-chan, don't worry everything's going to be alright, just –!"

Makoto cannot help but chuckle at the familiarity. At least someone hasn't changed all that much. "Nagisa, it's great to hear you again! I'm fine, all is well here in Tokyo."

"Tsk, you had me all worried there, Mako-chan!" Makoto can hear the pout in that voice. "After all, you haven't even called back in what, seven – eight years? What's up with that?"

"Ah, s-sorry," he says, and he means it. "I'm sorry. It all got too much for me, you know. Life."

"Oh... So why are you calling now? Missed me? Heh."

He spills the first thing that's on the tip of his tongue: "It's so good to hear your voice again, Nagisa." He leans back against the kitchen counter and looks out his window, at the bright lights of the city, so distant and cold. "How's everyone doing?"

Again, there's a slight pause on the other end, but it's not due to shock. "M-mako-chan," Nagisa snivels, and Makoto cannot believe he's listening to a grown man cry over the phone. "E-everyone's... everyone's doing fine. Rei just got promoted, too. You should come back and we'll celebrate together! We missed you a lot. Y-you know, we just moved in to the same apartment last month. It's really big, it's so cool, heh."

"Congrats, then, to the two of you," he says warmly. He's known all along, anyway.

"It's nothing!" Nagisa sniffs loudly. "So, how've you been, stranger?"

Makoto laughs. "Nothing new, really. Still working at the same place and all. I've been thinking of moving on to something better. There's another company that's offering better pay, and some other perky benefits."

"You should just go for it! Don't let the opportunity slip!" Nagisa says, chirpy. "You always manage to get whatever you set your sights on, Mako-chan!"

"Not everything."

"Eh – what was that?"

"Um, n-nothing," he stumbles. "Ah, you know, just the other day I, er – I bumped into Haru. He's moved to Tokyo?"

Nagisa's tone changes slightly; it's as though he's been afraid to tap into the subject altogether, and Makoto picks on to that. "E-eh, well. Yeah, you know. His company sent him, actually. S-so, how the job hunting going? Which company are you working for again? That same one? The, er – the software... thing?"

"Nagisa," Makoto says, seriously. "Why didn't he tell me?"

Why didn't any of you tell me?

"Mako-chan..."

"Ah, don't mind me – it doesn't really matter."

"Mako-chan," Nagisa says, adopting a sincere tone. "It's been ten years, you know. Haru-chan's moved on." Haven't you? are the words he doesn't need to utter.

It's enough to shatter Makoto's will. "Haruka... Is – is he, well... is he seeing anyone?" he asks, even though he can already guess, already dread.

"You should ask him yourself," Nagisa says. Well, damn. Looks like someone has changed too. "Knowing Mako-chan, you wouldn't have let Haru-chan just walk away without tackling him for his number, right?"

"It's creepy, how easily you sense these things," Makoto admits.

"So what're you waiting for, then?" Nagisa chides.

"You're right. Hah... I just felt so lost when I saw him that day. It really hit me, how much things have changed between us."

"Mako-chan, you have no idea, do you?"

"About what?"

"How much Haru-chan missed you."

Makoto feels his very spirit waver. All his other fears can go chuck themselves into a ditch for all he cares, because they are nothing compared to the fear of hurting the one person that means the most to him.

Nagisa begins to open up more, despite himself. "Man, Haru-chan is not gonna forgive me for telling you this. Just so you know, you owe me one. Haru-chan was... You knew how Haru-chan felt about you going, right? And while you were gone, I think he's made some rash and bad decisions. Well hey, that was a long time ago."

Bad decisions? Makoto doesn't even want to think what those might have been.

"Maybe... maybe you felt like you needed to show him you didn't need to rely on him, but, Mako-chan – why didn't Mako-chan stop to think that maybe Haru-chan was the one who needed you?"

"Nagisa..." The weight of his words are enough to make his chest ache.

"Why didn't you come back?" Nagisa asks, and he knows, he's speaking for everyone. "Haru-chan was waiting for you. He –"

"That's enough, Nagisa," he says, a little too sternly. "Enough."

"S-sorry, Mako-chan."

He sighs. "It's alright. Sorry. I didn't mean... You're right, about everything. I'm going to meet Haru, and I'm going to fix things between us for good. Thanks, Nagisa. I really appreciate you telling me all this."

Even if he got the message a little too late.

"No problem! Always here to help!" Nagisa says, lightheartedly. "Don't worry about it, Mako-chan, you always manage to get whatever you set your sights on," he says it again. Nagisa takes in a deep breath. "But, you know, I've been meaning to ask – what happened between you and Haru-chan anyway?"

What happened between Haru and I?

"Nothing," Makoto says. Nothing.

And it is precisely the problem.

They continue talking about other things, until Rei returns home, and Nagisa gets too distracted to keep by the phone. Later on, just as he is about to get ready for bed, a message from Nagisa comes along:

'Heh, Mako-chan still loves Haru-chan, after all these years, eh?'

Makoto's face heats up instantly, but he doesn't have the will to deny it.

'I'll tell you how it goes.' he replies, referring to their proposed meet-up, and then tries, as hard as he can, to fall asleep without dreaming of the past.

~ooo~

Thursday comes around, and he's waiting at the same spot where they last spoke. He hasn't gotten any mails from Haru at all, no confirmation of any sort, no see-you-later sort of thing, and it's really like the old Haru, actually. Only now, it probably isn't knowing and trust that's keeping him from replying Makoto's messages.

By seven-fifty, Haruka appears, wearing a different coat that's a little more form-fitting and smart, with a faded red scarf around his neck. Makoto doesn't like how the color clashes with Haru's eyes. It makes him frustrated, and he can't understand why. There's nothing wrong about it – Haruka can wear whatever he chooses and still look good in it.

"Sorry," is the first thing Haruka says. "Did you wait long?"

"Not at all." He smiles. "Let's go then."

Makoto leads them out the East exit, and down the street there. It's lined with book stores and food carts, and businessmen waiting in line at night bars. From the corner of his vision, he sees Haru eye them with unease.

"I don't take well to drinking," Haruka says quietly.

Makoto chuckles good-naturedly. "Don't worry, we're not going to any of those places. How does Katsu-don sound? They also have a miso mackerel meal set."

If there's something he'd been hoping to hear by making that comment, he doesn't quite remember what. Haruka just nods and follows him up a flight of stone steps, a corner away from a small cafe.

Makoto isn't sure why, but the sudden bout of cheering (no doubt, from a group of drunken friends) just above them from a two-story bar, makes Haru stop in his tracks, unsure. He has his hands in his pockets, chin-deep in his thick red muffler, and Makoto just wants to pull him to the side and – and he doesn't know what. It's been ten years; he has to gain Haru's trust all over again. Even a friendship like theirs cannot withstand the callousness of time, and he doesn't know what time has done to Haru, in turn. Whatever he's thinking, he will not share, and Makoto can accept that, like he accepts everything else about Haru.

"Haruka?" he tries.

Haru just stands there frozen, a step below him, probably regretting his decision already.

"Haruka." Makoto comes to stand next to him. "Do you want to go home?" he asks, all too used to being the overly-considerate one. "I can walk you home, if that's what you want. We can forget about it, or we can hang out another time."

Whatever you want. I'll do whatever you want. Just say the word.

"Makoto," Haruka says, after a while. "It's nothing. It's... Just remembered that... I have to stock up on cat food later."

The answer surprises him, and he smiles, half-relieved. "Oh? You keep cats now?"

"Just the one. A fat tabby."

They continue walking up the slope. "You must show me a picture sometime. What's his name?"

Haruka pauses. There's a hint of a blush on his cheek. "His... I didn't name him."

"Eh?"

"He keeps leaving the house anyway, and doesn't return for days on end."

Makoto chuckles. "That's cute."

"It's confusing," Haruka says.

They arrive at the shop, situated right at the top, away from all the gaudy lights. It's homely and quaint, just a place someone like Makoto would know. He's been here twice already, so the familiarity puts him at ease, and he feels as though he might just be able to get through the evening without feeling awkward. If Haruka is nervous or uncomfortable, he doesn't show it, just calmly sits next to Makoto at the counter seat after hanging his coat up at the door.

Unlike Makoto, he's not wearing a blazer underneath but something more casual-smart instead.

"Casual Thursday?" Makoto asks. It's an attempt to keep things fairly relaxed between them.

"I work at a design firm, now," Haruka replies, in a form of explanation.

"Wow, that's – that's really great. You always liked drawing, didn't you? I'm glad, that you get to show off your talent to the world."

"I'm not that good," Haruka says modestly, folding his hands in his lap, and Makoto thinks it strange to see his old friend act so meek in front of him.

"Don't say that. You're probably better than I can imagine. You've always been so talented, Haruka."

Haruka doesn't say anything to that, merely lowering his head in thought. He looks so tired, Makoto just wants to wrap his arms around those narrow shoulders. He's so distracted, he almost doesn't notice when the waitress comes to take their order. Haruka doesn't order the mackerel, opting for something else with pork. It's kind of silly, how it makes Makoto's heart clench tightly in his chest. He doesn't ask about it, though.

"Are you still working at that same company?" Haruka asks suddenly.

"Ah, y-yeah. But I've been meaning to quit for some time. Is your company in need of a finance guy?" Makoto smiles, teasing.

"We're just a small set-up. Less than ten employees, actually. I doubt you'll have anything to do." Haruka allows himself a small smile too, and Makoto feels his heart soar at the sight.

He's startled by the abrupt vibration in his pocket; he fishes out his phone to find a message from his girlfriend, asking him if he wants to come over tonight. He contemplates ignoring the invitation altogether.

"Girlfriend?" Haruka asks, tilting his head.

Shit. What to say...

It isn't like he and Haru are on a date. There's nothing to feel guilty about, so he tells the truth.

"Yeah. It's nothing serious, though. We're not exclusive or anything." Well, half-truth.

"I see," Haru says, and Makoto's slightly irked that he's so impassive about it. "What's her name?"

Makoto does not want to delve into that topic, not tonight at least. "That's not fair, you haven't even told me the name of your cat yet," he says childishly.

"I told you, he doesn't have a name."

"Hm, that's a lie, isn't it?"

"It's not important..."

"Then my girlfriend's name isn't important either," he says with finality. "She comes and goes, kind of like a cat. Doesn't return for days on end, sometimes."

Haruka chuckles at that, hiding his grin behind a hand, and it is exactly the type of response Makoto was hoping for.

"Maybe they're the same person," Haru jokes.

"I just knew she was cheating on me," Makoto says, beaming. Such irony.

It's a lot better than he reckoned. He might have a been a bit shy, but Haruka opens up to him easily, throughout the dinner. They don't talk much about the past, even if it is the thing that holds them together still. Makoto does not want Haru thinking back on that time. He'd rather concentrate on the present.

He learns that Haruka took up a short course on graphic design back at Iwatobi, and an interested party took him under their wing, after viewing his works at the graduation show. Turns out that he's asked to transfer to Tokyo to help run a newly-opened branch, and he's been living somewhere between Ueno and Akihabara in an apartment complex rented out to employees of the design firm.

"Does it have a pool?" Makoto asks, curious. "Your condo."

"Yeah," Haru replies. "I don't have the time to swim that often, though. You must think, the sky is falling, right?"

Makoto chortles. A Haru who doesn't make time for swimming? Forget about the sky falling, the world might as well end!

When their dinner comes, Makoto finds himself eating slower than he normally does. Just the thought and sight of Haruka sitting, nearly shoulder to shoulder, next to him, is enough to keep his hunger at bay. He'd starve too, for another night of this. There's something about the quiet grace that Haru exudes in his every simple gesture that takes his breath away. He remembers that about him fondly.

It's nearly ten when they're done. Makoto leaves two thousand yen for the bill, refusing to accept Haru's share of the cost. He asks Haru to pay him back in other ways, and that brings a suspicious flush to the other's cheeks.

The air is colder than before, as they walk down the stairs to the main pavement.

"I can't wait for spring," Haru says.

"So that it'll be warm enough to swim?" Makoto doesn't miss a beat.

Haruka smiles, albeit a little sadly. "Yeah," he says, and it comes out in a puff of white vapor.

They hear the sound of rain coming before it even reaches them. It's so sudden that the two just stand there, stock-still for a moment, neither with an umbrella on hand. But it's mostly because Haruka, at the first feel of rainwater descending upon them, tilts his head up with his eyes closed, and lets the water wash over his face without reserve. It's like the world around them has ceased to exist. And Makoto wishes it to. He just wants nothing more than to burn this image of Haruka in his mind forever, so unguarded and free.

The reeling sound of closing shutters brings Makoto back to earth. He instinctively takes Haruka by the hand, pulling him safely into the shelter of a convenience store's canopy.

"Rain? Is that your thing now?" Makoto asks, wiping the water from his brow.

Haruka stares out at the pouring showers, water dripping from his hair and onto his face. "Not really. Just the feel of it reminded me of something."

He looks so drenched and cold even under his coat, that Makoto comes over to wipe his face dry with his own sleeve. He doesn't realize what he's doing until his eyes meet Haruka's own, and it's practically criminal, the way Haru's looking at him now.

"S-sorry," he mutters, turning away.

Haruka lets out a breath. "It's alright."

The rain grows heavier by the minute, unrelenting. Makoto wonders if they should buy a cheap umbrella, or run all the way back to the station in the rain. He studies the rack where they display the umbrellas and ponchos, but what catches his attention is the cooler next to it.

"Hey, Haruka, fancy one of these?" he points to the soda popsicles within. "Do you remember?"

Haruka comes close to peer into the brightly-lit glass box. His eyes light up, if only for a second. "It's the middle of winter, Makoto."

"Yeah, but popsicles are all-year-round," he says, cheerily. "It's the same one we used to get as kids."

"I'm still full."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," Makoto says mildly. "Next time, perhaps," he adds, hopeful.

Haruka folds his hands into his coat, looking a little restless. Makoto worries at that, and he isn't sure why, but his sensors are telling him to read the situation properly before speaking again.

His phone goes off in his pocket; another message from his girlfriend, telling him to come over before the storm gets too bad to travel. He chafes his hands together for warmth, intending to send her a quick response.

"You should go to your girlfriend."

Makoto almost doesn't catch it. "Sorry?"

"You should go to her," Haruka says, forcing a small smile out.

"What are you saying, it wasn't even from my girlfriend," he lies, and it doesn't matter if Haru knows or not.

"Come on, Makoto. You're not fooling me."

"Why does this even matter, Haruka?" Makoto doesn't even know why he's upset about it; but the way Haru dismisses the fact makes him sick to the stomach.

Haruka lowers his gaze to the wet ground around them, so that Makoto may not see the full emotion that stirs there. You fully know why it matters, is what Haru tells him, in the way he shifts from one foot to the other, and Makoto shivers at that – he's almost forgotten how it was like between them, ten years ago, how familiar they were with each other that no words needed to be spoken – it is just then, when he's reliving a brief piece of the memory, that he finds himself never wanting to let go of it.

Haruka swallows, steeling himself for whatever he's about to say. Makoto already hears it before he does.

"Makoto," he starts. "There's someone I'm –"

"Don't say it," Makoto cuts in. His pulse is thundering, his breath quickening. There's a million things he wishes to say, but all the words he can string together fall flat on his tongue, and all can do is repeat the same thing over and over, "Don't say it. I don't want to hear it."

"Makoto." The look Haruka gives him shatters his heart in two.

"I don't care," he says, solemnly, stepping close enough that they are barely a foot apart. He looks right into Haru's lovely, lovely face, and speaks the truth. "I just want to be here, with you. I'm fine with just that, for now."

It's like they are seventeen again – facing each other in the drizzle, on the shores of a deserted isle, and Haruka is looking at him like he is about to cry. The very thought of sending a single tear down Haru's face makes Makoto want to throw himself off a cliff. He doesn't cry though, breaking out into a shaky smile instead, and the shadow lifts from Makoto's eyes.

"I want to you show something," Haruka says, breathless.

"Here? Now?" There's nowhere they can possibly go, not in this weather.

"Yes," Haru says simply, taking his hand. "A sight you've never seen before."

And he pulls a terrified Makoto into the downpour with him.

"H-Haru!"

It's freezing, so cold he can barely keep his teeth from chattering. The few people on the street with their umbrellas walk on by, in a blur. His shoes quickly fill with water, and his pants become so drenched it takes some effort to move his legs. He looks around, feeling like a fool with his flattening hair and soaked clothes, and wonders if anyone would pity them enough to spare them shelter to the station.

He looks over to where Haruka is, and forgets about the stinging of rain on his face entirely. There's no other way to describe it – Haruka looks so in love, so absorbed, that Makoto begins to feel the same emotions reflecting back on him, except that it isn't towards the rain. He has his hand outstretched, seemingly in a trance, as he lets the rainwater wash over his face, like a man seeking to be cleansed of sin. Amidst it all, Haruka smiles openly, and it is the biggest smile Makoto has ever seen on Haru since the day they met, and he falls in love all over again.

"Makoto," Haru says, spreading his arms. "We're free."

Makoto lets out a shuddering gasp. For a while, the rain falls, warm against his skin, like a comforting blanket, streaming down his face and neck and into his clothes like a whisper. The world around them goes on, completely detached, and he feels like he is above everything else – above all his fears, all his worries, all the expectations and responsibilities. There is nothing left of him but his wet socks and his laughter, and his pure, undying love for the man that stands before him, laughing along with him – the most beautiful person Makoto has ever come to know, and will ever know, in his lifetime.

We are free, he thinks, and kisses Haruka on the lips for the first time in his life.

~ooo~

They walk to Haru's condo in the rain, shoulders brushing. It takes them a good twenty minutes, and the doorman goes frantic at the sight of the two, water-logged and dripping puddles all over the lobby. It's all they can do to keep from giggling like schoolboys.

Haruka's apartment is simple and neat, and he's acquired a liking for buying curious objects from vintage shops, like the large greenish cola bottle that sits in a corner, and a faded map from the first world war that he's sectioned into frames along the walls of his living room. Pretty artsy, if Makoto would say so himself.

"You can dry yourself off in that bathroom," Haru says, handing him a towel and some fresh clothes. "Sorry if they don't fit. These are the biggest sizes I have, though."

"Thanks." Makoto takes the items, peering into Haruka's face to read for any signs. There's none he can figure.

"If you need me I'll be in the room, over there."

Haru leaves him alone, and doesn't bother taking off a single article of clothing until he has his bedroom door fully shut. Makoto wonders if Haru's going to ignore what happened for the rest of the night. He still feels the supple warmth of the other's lips on his own, and cannot help but think if he should forget about it too. It was done in the spur of the moment, after all.

He's drying his hair, dressed in a pair of Haru's track pants and nothing else; the shirt doesn't quite fit right on his shoulders. He remembers a time when they'd share clothes and bags, among other things, and wonders how he ever stopped getting used to that – he even had a drawer full of Haruka's things and Haruka had one for his. Sometimes it didn't even matter what belonged to who, they were virtually the same person, and nothing could tear them apart. Except, of course, if it was broken from within.

Tiny ceramic figurines line the lone book shelf in the living area. Trinkets and gifts, no doubt, saved from flea markets and corner shops. One catches his eye – it takes him a while to realize why – it's a blue dolphin on a keychain, and it's of similar make to the one Makoto has. He reaches out to check, and the small name scribbled on the side of its curled tummy confirms his hunch.

"Oh," Haruka appears at the doorway, dressed in his home clothes. "Do you remember that?"

How could I possibly forget?

"Yeah. I got this for you, a long time ago."

Haruka looks to the floor, and towels the hair at his nape. Makoto hears what he doesn't say, but answers regardless.

"I still have mine, too," he says, smiling gently. "I'm glad you still keep yours."

Haruka faces him now, a question in his eyes; a question that Makoto cannot decipher, or it is more accurate to say that his brain refuses to confront the matter altogether.

He doesn't say anything, when Makoto shifts to stand before him, suggestive. Haru keeps his eyes trained on the taller man's collarbone, somewhat reserved and – and almost trusting, that it makes Makoto feel like he can do anything and Haru would comply. It's so quiet – even the sound of the rain is blocked off – there's only the consistent drip-dropping of tap water from the bathroom; it serves as a projection of his heartbeat, as he looks down at Haru like this, just appreciating his very existance.

When did I start loving you anyway?

Up close, Haruka's face seems thinner; he's lost some of that baby fat from their childhood, and it makes Makoto sad to see how tired it makes him look now. His eyes are dim, and reflect a calm maturity. Haruka will always be attractive to him, but it's little things like these that make him realize how much time has passed since his leaving Iwatobi. What has Haru seen, what has he felt, within this gap of ten years, in Makoto's absence, in a world where Makoto was not there to share those things with him? Even with all their friends, Haruka must have felt so terrified, so alone, and Makoto's furious that it's taken him this long to become truly aware.

All his life, he's known, there has never been – and there never will be – any other that he will dedicate his love to. Perhaps it will be too far-fetched to say that it is something like destiny, or that they are soulmates, because that is not what they are. Haru is he, and he is Haru. There is no other truth he will accept.

Haruka glances off to the side, arms going around himself. "I think – I think I left the tap on somewhere –"

Makoto doesn't know where it comes from, but it does – and now he understands why they call it a whirlwind of emotions because all that's going through his head is a jumble of thoughts and decisions, none of them making any sense when they're rumbling so loudly at the same time, stripping him of his control, confusing his expectations with his desires. Without warning, he has Haruka pinned against the wall, kissing him with a hungry, open mouth, putting his hands everywhere he can reach – caressing his thigh, squeezing his bum, going under his shirt. It is hot and warm inside Haruka's mouth, and Makoto cannot wait to discover other places of his body that will give him similar pleasure.

Haruka, in contrast, is livid with shock. "No," he tries, a sob escaping his throat as Makoto leaves his mouth to suckle on his neck instead. He pulls and claws, struggling with all his inferior might. "Don't –"

He pushes an arm against Makoto's chest to separate them, but the other just wrenches it away and continues on his mindless impulse.

I've wanted this so long –

"Makoto!" Haruka shouts, desperate. "Stop!"

The way his voice breaks as he says it makes Makoto freeze up. The only train of coherent thought running through his mind now is that Haru doesn't like it, so much so that he has to raise his voice; and to think, Makoto forced this upon him so suddenly. It's no wonder Haruka is trembling slightly now, his breathing shaky. Makoto thinks that he very well deserves the look of bitter betrayal in Haru's dewy eyes.

Fuck. He screwed up.

It was a mistake, he wants to say. I was too caught up in my emotions. I had no way to show you. It all became too much for me. You are perfect. But he says none of these; it's as though his heart is swelling up with all the poison of his actions until it's up in his throat, blocking the words from reaching his tongue, and all he can manage is a pitiable, "Sorry."

The last thing Makoto imagines Haru to show is understanding, but that is exactly what is displayed in his eyes, in place of fear and distrust. Makoto hates himself. He hates himself so much that he will willingly lock himself away in a dark place, and wait for death to come.

"Hit me," he says, curling his hands into fists against the wall. "Yell at me. Punch me, anything. If you want me to, I'll leave."

Haruka looks at him calmly, seemingly to deduce his next course of action.

"Makoto," he says, and the words that come next hurt Makoto more than any punch Haru can deliver. "I cannot accept your feelings."

He feels as though a train's just hit him. Rendered speechless, Makoto can only let his arms fall limply to his sides, and let the world crumble around him because it doesn't matter. He doesn't give a fuck. He can die right now and it will not even amount to anything.

Haruka doesn't love him. Even if he did, he doesn't anymore, and Makoto knows it's his fault. Everything is. He regrets ever deciding to leave Iwatobi behind. Regrets getting on that train, ten years ago. Regrets ever choosing his independence over Haru. With Haru in front of him now, Makoto knows what he wants – knows what he's always wanted, from ten years ago – but was too afraid to let it show.

"I-I'm," Haruka says. "I'm seeing someone else. It would be... unfair to him."

Makoto thinks of his girlfriend, on the other side of town, waiting for a reply that will never come.

"And so," he continues, "I cannot promise you anything, Makoto. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Makoto says, edging away. "You shouldn't be sorry for anything."

Haruka looks like he's about to say more, when a loud meow startles the both of them. A sleepy tabby cat comes strolling out from underneath the couch, eyeing Makoto with caution, and a hint of jealousy too, if his eyes aren't playing tricks on him. It meows again, a little bolder, coming up to its owner's feet. Haruka takes this as an opportunity to avoid the subject.

"There's a guestroom, down that corridor. I've laid out the futon, so you can sleep there for the night," he says quickly. "Feel free to take whatever you want from the fridge, if you're hungry."

Makoto doubts he even has the appetite to sustain himself for the next five months.

"Goodnight."

Haruka goes to his room, prompting the cat after him, and Makoto vaguely hears a faint 'come here, Mako-chan', before the door closes, and he's standing in the middle of Haru's living room, alone.

~ooo~

The day after, Makoto breaks up with his girlfriend of six months. There is nothing to it; just a call in the middle of lunch break, and it's over.

That morning, he left Haru's apartment before the sun could rise, leaving a short note to express his gratitude and apologies. He wanted to at least make breakfast before he left, but there was no fish in the fridge, and that simply put him off. He isn't sure if someone else has been staying over too, and there's nothing in the kitchen that hints at this; one mug, five sets of cutlery, four glasses – it doesn't really say much. No photos in the living area, either. Whatever this person is like, he has not an inkling of a clue.

Makoto spends the next week in a kind of slump, and finds himself fiddling with his phone at every chance he gets, debating on whether to text Haru or not. He feels pathetic like this, wallowing in regret and self-pity. It's not something Haruka would like to see. Not that Haru will ever want to see him again, of course. After all these years of absence, and suddenly Makoto comes crashing back into his life; Haru is not one to take change lightly, he knows, so this cannot be doing any good for his well-being.

If Haruka is happy with things the way they are, Makoto will smile and gladly take a backseat, like he always has.

But with all his past years by Haru's side, he falls back easily to reading the emotions there. And Haruka is not happy. Not when they first met at the station, not when they were having dinner, and certainly not back at the apartment. There is something off, but Makoto does not have the courage to dive any further to find out what.

If there was something wrong, Haru would have told him.

Makoto slams his laptop shut a little too roughly, causing his colleagues to stare. What is he thinking – of course Haruka would not tell him anything. Haru is simply not that kind of person. That is Makoto's job, isn't it – to know everything? Still, he doesn't. Not now, not ten years ago. Some things might have stayed the same, after all; but the one thing that has changed, Makoto gathers, is that he isn't going to be the coward anymore. He's done with being afraid, done with all the hiding and waiting.

By the time Friday comes, he's decided. He's waiting at the JR Line platform, before seven-thirty, by a corner where he knows Haruka will pass, and he admits, he's looking rather suspicious like this, decked in his dark brown coat and even darker aura. When the train pulls up, he realizes he doesn't yet know what to say, but he scans the rush hour crowd for that familiar head, and spots Haru coming towards him, without a clue in the world.

He doesn't care that they are in a station full of people; he comes up swiftly to block Haruka's path as is his first instinct, and Haruka flinches back, completely shaken up, like he was never expecting to see Makoto's face again for as long as he lived.

"Makoto?" he says, paralyzed. He has his hand clutching that faded red scarf of his like a defense mechanism, as he stares up at the other with a sense of distress.

Makoto just wants to tear that unbefitting scarf away, but instead, he puts his hands on Haru's shoulders to usher him to the side.

"Haruka," he says. "Haruka – don't be scared, I just need a moment of your time."

"Here? Now?"

"Please, I just – please hear me out," he starts, and wherever the words come from, they come hurling, breaking past his barriers like a broken dam. "Haruka, I'm sorry. Whatever that happened ten years ago, I'm here to make amends now. I thought I wanted this, I thought I wanted to pursue the bigger dream, to break away from our small hometown and live a life of independence and – and I don't really know what the hell I was trying to prove, but I was young and stupid and selfish, and too fixated on the future to see what was happening to us in the present."

"Makoto." Haruka touches his elbow gently, reminding him that he still has his hands on Haruka's shoulders. The grip doesn't waver, however.

"There was only one thing I wanted, and that was not to get away from Iwatobi, or to chase whatever stupid dream –"

"Makoto, don't –"

"What I wanted was you," he says, and it comes out easier than he expects it to. "And that hasn't changed one bit, for the past ten years."

Haruka looks like a cornered animal, pinned down by Makoto's hands and Makoto's stare. At such close a distance, it's hard to hide anything.

I've nothing to hide, Makoto thinks. I'm done hiding.

"I love you, Haruka Nanase," he says, without blushing. There's nothing to be ashamed of. He knows shame all too well, and confessing his love in a public area is nothing, compared to the real shame of having Haruka look at him with eyes filled with fear and uncertainty, as he is being taken advantage of.

Haruka takes in a deep breath, and his eyes are so wide Makoto sees himself in them clearly, how stubborn and imposing he looks.

"I love you," he goes on. "I've tried to live my life without regrets, but it's meaningless without you, after all."

Haruka clutches at the sides of Makoto's coat, and lowers his head. A shudder courses through his body as he finds the words to say. "Makoto, it's been ten years. I-I really don't need this now."

"But, Haru –"

"You think you can just waltz back into my life, after you left on your own?" Haruka says, trying to control his anger. "It doesn't matter what you say – you took the first step, and left. It's alright. You were right to be selfish. I was holding you back, all this time, wasn't I?"

"That's not true!" Makoto says, and it comes out louder than he wanted it to. "And for the record, I would have stayed, if you told me to."

Haruka scoffs. "Like hell."

"I would have stayed!" he yells, shaking Haruka roughly by the shoulders. "All you had to do was say the words, don't go, stay with me here, and I would have dropped everything – I would have dropped all my plans, all the excuses, just because you told me to! That is how much I cared, Haru! But you gave me a choice, and I fucking took it!"

"Makoto!" Haruka cries, hitting him in the chest weakly. "You should have known!"

"Because I know everything?" Makoto shouts back, seeing red, and by then a small audience has gathered around, making hushed comments about the situation. "Do I, Haru? Do I know everything? Of course I don't! There are some things even you have to tell me! You can't expect me to read your mind when you close yourself off completely –"

"I'm not telling you to read my mind!" Haruka glares at him bitterly. "I'm saying you should have been my best friend, and just – and just fucking been there!"

"Well I'm here now, aren't I?" Makoto says, enraged. "Why do you think I wanted us to meet up? Even if we haven't really spoken in ten years, isn't it better late than never? I'm here to stay, whether you like it or not!"

"What are you saying, Makoto?" Haru groans, exasperated. "I already told you, I'm seeing –"

"DON'T SAY IT!" he screams, and the entire platform falls into an uneasy silence. People walk past hurriedly, or stop to stare. Makoto thinks that it won't matter if Haruka chooses to punch him in the face right then. He will say everything that's on his mind, even with blood gushing past his lips, even with the whole world listening in on them, judging them.

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!" he continues. "You can tell him it's over! Just fucking tell him, or I will!"

Is he drunk, someone whispers. They're gay, don't look, says another. Like he would give a fuck.

"Makoto –"

"It's over, because I'm going to take you from him," he decides, staring right into Haru's bewildered eyes. There is a light blush tinting Haruka's cheeks, as he sheepishly glances around at the people surrounding them. Makoto lets himself calm down, before taking Haru's face in his palms, so that he will not look elsewhere. "Let me tell you the difference," he carries on, "between him and I. He's not prepared to make you happy for the rest of your life, the way I will. He's not loved you his whole life – hell, what does he know? And I? I bless the very day we met, right up to the moment I first saw you here, at the train station, thinking it was all a dream."

Makoto resists the urge to kiss him, the emotion in those blue eyes growing far too much.

"I love you, Haruka Nanase," he repeats. "And I will take care of you, for as long as I live."

My heart has been yours from the very beginning.

A few individuals start taking photos of them, while they are in that open, compromising position. Don't care about them, Makoto tells Haru with his eyes. Look only at me.

"Makoto," Haruka takes a shuddering breath, hiding his face in the other's shadow. Hesitantly, he touches the back of Makoto's palm with his cool fingertips. "Don't make me say this again. I... I c-cannot –"

"Shush," Makoto says, a finger on the corner of Haru's lips. He's said everything; all that's left is for Haruka to give him an answer, and yet, he cannot accept anything that goes against his favor. "Don't say anything yet. Please take some time to think about it. Two weeks should be enough, right? I will wait for you, Haruka."

A third voice interrupts the couple. "Excuse me, sirs," says the officer of the train platform, tapping him on the shoulder lightly. "You will have to take your discussion somewhere else."

Makoto finally gets a look around at all the people who've been watching him blurt out his confession, and feels a bit like a fool for embarrassing Haruka in front of all these strangers.

"Haruka," he turns back to the other, wanting to quickly finish this without having to be hauled out of the station by force. "Do you remember the coffee shop, at the corner where we passed by last week? I'll be waiting there for you, two weeks from now, at this time. If you can accept my feelings, I'll be there waiting. If your answer is no, you don't have to come. All you have to do, is not turn up, and I'll know. You don't even have to call, or message me, and I'll understand. But just know this, Haruka," he adds, earnest. "I'll be waiting there, everyday, until you choose to come to me. Even if it's another ten years down the road, you'll still know where to find me."

The officer who's there steps forth again. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but it's –"

"One day," Makoto continues, "you're going to leave him, and I know it. Whenever you do, be it many months or many years later, I'll be waiting. Whatever you are, whoever you are by then, it doesn't matter – I will love you all the same."

Until I am grey and old, until I can no longer wait anymore.

Haruka is flushed and breathless, as though they've been kissing for a very long time and he's only got the chance to catch his breath now. An entire array of emotions must be passing through his head, because no words come from his mouth, as he listens to what Makoto has to say with an unreadable expression.

When he's done, Makoto lets himself be ushered away, only looking back once to see Haruka running off in the opposite direction, red scarf billowing out behind him.

There is nothing left to do but wait, and Makoto is good at that. Two weeks are nothing, compared to ten years, after all.

~ooo~

It'll be fine, he repeats to himself. Haru is going to come.

It's ten to nine in the evening, when Makoto orders a new drink, so as to justify his lengthy stay. He won't be doing much sleeping tonight, if the other doesn't show up, so another coffee wouldn't really hurt now, would it? The waiter smiles at him, as he sets down the cup. Makoto wonders how many days will pass, before the staff start to ask him for his story, and how odd he will look if he ever decides to tell it. Well, it is only day one, and he's got faith, if nothing else.

Perhaps Haruka is busy at work, or he's down with the flu. Maybe his train got delayed in the snow, who knows? Makoto comes up with random excuses in his head to pass the time.

A particularly heavy gust blows outside, and he glances up to look; the hung sign of the café outlet flaps violently, and it's only now that he discovers the goldfish motif on their brand name. Cafe Oranda – named after the goldfish species, even though there's nothing remotely goldfish-themed about the design of the café itself, save small paintings of the freshwater fish at the bottom of each coffee cup. Makoto only sees this after he's downed the last drops of his drink, and it kind of looks like the poor fish is struggling in an exceptionally muddy puddle. Nothing too fancy, but it's different, at the very least, and oddly fitting.

Makoto wonders if Haruka ever passes by this café, on his normal days, and still remembers the significance of the small goldfish Makoto carried in that flimsy plastic bag that night, and still carries with him in his heart since their passing. It's been a long time since their days of youth; such trivial memories have probably been shelved away long ago.

Outside, the heavy snowfall has stopped, and Makoto can see the people in the streets dwindling. It's close to ten, and everyone just wants to be back at home in the warmth, with their loved ones. He's one of the two customers left, and the café workers start to slowly clear the pastries and hang up the cutlery. He only gets up to leave, when the same waiter from before comes up to apologize, telling him that they're closing up for the night.

"Do visit us again," the man says, polite, but Makoto cannot help but laugh to himself at the twisted humor of that comment.

At the last moment, he drinks up his final sip, and it is the bitterest thing he's ever tasted.

There's that lone goldfish waiting at the bottom of the mug, and he gives it a last look, before taking his coat to leave.

Out in the open, it is still, but he anticipates more snow later in the night. They hardly have snow, here in Tokyo, but with this freak weather going on these days, the walkways might as well be covered foot-deep in ice by the morning. He puts on his coat, and fishes out his gloves from his pocket. It's a long journey home, and he doesn't want to think about how many more of these journeys back he'll have to make in this lifetime. He's already waited ten years for Haruka, what's another ten, right?

No matter how passionately he expressed himself that day, the gravity of Haruka's decision is a heavy load on his shoulders, and he finds himself unable to move for a while, as the realization sinks in. It is a hefty price to pay for love, but he will not go back on his word. As long as there is the slightest possibility of Haruka turning up at the café one day, it is enough for Makoto.

It'll be better tomorrow, he thinks, and starts to walk back to the station.

He's so lost within his own reflections that he almost doesn't hear the soft calling of his name, some distance away. He's been so disillusioned, all this time, he won't be surprised if it was his mere imagination. Regardless, a part of him tells him to stop, and he does, turning towards the direction of the sound, without any sort of real hope, until he sees the figure standing before him.

Once again, Nanase Haruka appears, and throws Makoto's world into an array of chaos.

But it is a good kind of chaos. The kind of disorder when he's throwing his bag down, after a long day of school and swimming, with his little brother and sister all over him before he can even take his shoes off, making him drop the popsicle he's holding. And his best friend – at his side, always – offering him his share and a smile that warms him from the inside.

And here he is again, offering Makoto something much more than just a bittersweet memory of their childhood. A chance to truly live again. A chance to find meaning in everyday life. A reason to return home, knowing that someone will be there waiting for him.

Haruka stands just a few feet away, effortlessly beautiful under the lights of the street, all huddled in a giant cream muffler and dusty grey coat, with raven-black hair falling easily into place over his bright baby blues, and Makoto wonders how the hell he left this all behind in the first place.

He looks so cold and pale, frost on his brow and in his hair, like he's been sitting in the snow for hours.

"I didn't think you'd wait," Haruka says, his voice a strangled whisper, as the first tear falls from his eye.

It barely makes it down his chin before Makoto is there, embracing him for all he's worth. Haru is here. He has come; the love of his life, his other half, his childhood sweetheart, his beloved Haruka.

"I had a feeling," Makoto says, muffling his voice into Haruka's shoulder, and he stops there, unable to continue, because he is crying too.

It's alright, he thinks to himself. He's not shed a single tear since they first parted; it certainly makes up for all the years of silent suffering.

And Haruka will understand, like he always has.

It's only when he takes Haruka's hands into his own does he realize how blue and freezing they are. He brushes off the ice from Haru's face, and knows; he can already see Haru, standing in a corner, in the disheartening cold alone, too afraid to come into the café because he doesn't know what side of him will show, when he's finally face to face with the man who claims he will love him for the rest of his life.

Makoto looks into the other's eyes, as a worried inquiry.

"I'm sorry," Haruka says, reading his mind, "I couldn't go to you sooner. There were so many people. I didn't wish to – I'm just – I-I'm not like you, Makoto."

"It's okay," Makoto silences him, placing his large palm over Haruka's frozen cheek. "You're here with me right now, and that's all I can ever ask for."

Better late than never.

Haruka's breathing turns jittery, as the tears fall, unbidden, down his face and all over Makoto's fingers.

"Makoto," Haruka says, between his sobs. "I've missed you." And it is the first time he's said it, since their parting. Makoto feels so light, it's like he can float in the air with all these bubbles that are forming beneath his feet. "I missed you. I missed you so much." Haruka cries like he's never wept in his entire life – there's no shame in it, nothing left to hide. They share everything, after all.

"I'm sorry," Haruka continues, "for not saying anything. I thought you'd know. I was naïve and selfish to think that – to think that you'd not want..."

"No," Makoto says, touching their foreheads together. "No, Haru. You did tell me. I'm sorry for not listening. I was too caught up in myself and my worries – I thought that if I stayed, I'd be taking your freedom away, and I didn't want that."

"Silly Makoto," Haru scolds lightly. "No one dictates my freedom but me."

Despite the tears, Haruka's expression is strong, unyielding, with a hint of unwavering devotion. The glimmer is back in his eyes, and it's as though he's looking right into the eyes of that sixteen-year-old boy he first fell in love with. And Makoto will continue to love him, for all his quirks and faults, but really, he's never found any fault in Haruka, at least none that matter.

They stay like that for a while, just looking at each other, as the world passes by. It's funny, Makoto thinks, how two people can just spend hours staring into the other's eyes, basking in the very warmth of their gaze, but he understands it now. He can certainly see himself spending an eternity just soaking up the glow from Haruka's very presence and all the passion that's there.

"I... I love you, Makoto," Haru says, laughing a bit afterward, as though his very emotions are tickling him from the inside. It feels good to say it out loud.

"I know," Makoto says, and deep down, he really did know; there is no way he would have pursued Haruka otherwise. Just the tiniest suggestion was enough, and to be honest, Haruka's been dropping hints in his own way; Makoto was just too afraid to initiate anything. And what a waiting game that turned out to be, he muses.

Time is cruel, as it is daunting, but time also provides opportunity. With everything they've been through, Makoto can truly say that they've come a long way, and time is but a factor that brought them together, in the end.

He catches the first sight of snowfall from the corner of his vision and turns to look. Haru glances around them, twisting within Makoto's arms to get a better view. Not a sound is heard, except for the crunching of ice beneath their boots, as the snow falls from the night sky, gentle as sakura petals in the springtime, in the absence of howling winter winds. Amidst it all, Haruka looks to the heavens, and smiles a true smile, and it is so beautiful that Makoto's heart pours with all the love and affection in the world for this man before him.

It is truly a sight he cannot wait to see more of.

I am free, he thinks, and kisses Haruka on the lips; the first of many to come.

-End.

A/N: These boys, such cheese. Please forgive me, I just wanted to write x'D I've been so drained, just trying to finish this fic, and I wanted it to be better, much, much better than this turned out to be. I know it can be, but for now, I am so tired, and there are more fics waiting in line, haha... I hope you guys enjoyed it, at the very least! Please review, to tell me how you found it to be! (: My first err, MakoHaru angst.

Just for some random trivia: the faded red scarf that Haru wore was meant to represent an older, more imposing figure in his love life, something Makoto was disgruntled at the very sight of. Doesn't matter if you didn't catch it (: I just wanted to be a smart-ass and stick some deep stuff within there, lol! Thank you for reading, and do leave a comment, to tell me your thoughts! 8D