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For the third time in less than a minute, Makoto finds himself shooting down a glance at his watch. But the second hand doesn’t tick by any slower, for all his frustrated huffs, and it’s still been more than fifteen minutes and counting since his phone lit up with a text from Haru: I’ve reached.
It’s been a week since winter break started, with only three days to Christmas, and the late morning sun is weak and the breeze bitingly cold. Makoto pulls his jacket closer around him and wonders absently if Haru remembered to bring his scarf.
He’s on his way to Taito Station, where the five of them had planned to meet up late last night—courtesy a mass text issued from Nagisa, as most of their plans usually turned out to be.
Received: 11:43 pm
From: Nagisa
Subject: (⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ
haru-chan! mako-chan! rei-chan! rinrin-chan! you guys are so boooooring. (￣ー￣) it’s been a week since winter break started, and we haven’t done anything fun together, it’s a travesty! 11:30 a.m. tomorrow, Taito Station video game arcade! it’ll be a battle to the death—be there if you can handle it! (⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ
Makoto would have come with Haru as always, but he’d already promised his mother he’d head down to the open market with her in the morning. So he’d asked Haru to meet him at the station—a ten-minute walk from the marketplace—but it takes longer than he’d anticipated.
That’s how he finds himself hurrying down the last stretch of the road, decidedly late and checking his watch every few seconds.
Makoto doesn’t really question the way his heart feels full and his nerves thrum with anticipation whenever he’s about to meet Haru, even though he sees him every single day without fail, and spends most of his waking moments with him. It’s happened so long, as far as he can remember, really, that anything otherwise would seem strange.
Of course, somewhere in the back recesses of his mind he knows it’s because he’s madly in love with his best friend—always has been—but he doesn’t let himself dare to think much harder about it. Instead, he looks down at his watch again, allows his heart to expand with happiness till it feels like it could burst out of his chest, and counts down the paces till he turns the corner and sees Haru at last.
As he walks, his thoughts start to wander, as they always do when the mere suggestion of Haru enters his brain. He hopes Haru remembered to bring his scarf, but there’s a tiny treacherous part of him that wishes he’d forgotten so he could share it with him. They haven’t done that in years—mostly because Makoto is always there to remind him.
He hasn’t shared his embarrassing secrets with anyone in the world, but he can almost feel Rin’s hand cuffing him at the back of his neck, and hear his exasperated snarl, “Stop reminding him to wear the goddamn scarf for once, Makoto, you’re too fucking nice for your own good and you have no idea how much it pisses me off.”
(Sighing, Makoto offers a quick mental apology to the Rin in his head for blaming the idea on him when it was really just his own.)
A sudden chilly gust of wind has him burrowing his chin in his scarf, and he thinks back to the last time he walked to school together sharing a scarf with Haru, way back in third grade.
It had been a December morning not unlike this one, and they were already late for school when Haru met Makoto at the bottom of the steps sans his usual scarf, so Makoto had bundled Haru up in his own before he could complain. He was cold too, but just looking at Haru wrapped up and warm would be enough for him.
“We’re getting late!” he’d cried worriedly, and made to set off, but a tug at his shirtsleeve had made him pause.
He’d turned to find Haru looking off to the side, cheeks faintly pink and the scarf unravelled from his neck with one end held out to Makoto.
“H-Haru!” Makoto had cried in surprise, that had given way to giddy happiness. And they’d walked to school like that, pressed close together with the scarf wrapped around their necks.
Makoto can remember the warmth that had spread to the tips of his toes, both from the shared body heat as well as from just the reality of having Haru so close to him. He doesn’t usually dare to let his thoughts wander so far, but it’s December and the warmth that the memory brings is too welcoming to refuse.
It’s so welcoming, that he doesn’t even notice the little old lady walking down the street towards him, till he's bumped right into her.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he cries in dismay, grabbing both her arms to steady her.
The old lady looks up at him—she’s tiny, about three heads shorter than him—with her forehead creased into a frown. Makoto winces; is she going to start yelling at him? He’s about to start apologising again, when she seems to find something in his face as she peers closely up at him, because suddenly her frown melts into a soft smile.
“You run along now, young man,” she says. “Don’t you worry about little old me. You have someone waiting for you, don’t you?”
Makoto stares at her, hesitant, but she huffs in exasperation and winks—Makoto blinks, because he must have imagined that, right?—except she winks again and shoos him off with a hand.
A little dazed, Makoto nods, and stumbles off on his way.
It takes him a few moments, but he snaps back to reality with the realisation that he's only a few short feet away from the street corner—from getting to see Haru at last. Heart starting to skip again, he covers it at a half-run and makes the turn.
The station isn’t very crowded, but Haru is standing by himself in a corner, looking out at the ocean across the rail tracks. As if drawn to him by an invisible force, Makoto’s eyes light on him instantly.
Haru isn’t wearing a scarf, his ears look a little pink from the cold, and it makes Makoto want to run to him, cover his ears with his hands to warm them up and wrap him up in his jacket. And he's probably smiling ridiculously as he starts walking towards him, but he can’t bring himself to care.
He can feel his cheeks grow warm as he pictures it—a warmth that spreads all the way to the tips of his toes and makes him feel like he could—
Bam.
There was a lamppost. There was a lamppost in his way, and he’d walked right into it.
He’s mortified, because he legitimately cannot remember seeing it at all—but then he hears a muffled snort, and he looks up.
Haru’s body has started to shake. Hardly daring to believe it, Makoto watches with eyes wide as the quiet shudders travel from his belly to bubble up to his chest till his shoulders are shaking with it.
He’s laughing.
Haru’s laughing, his hand raised to cover his face—but Makoto can still see the flushed cheeks, the crinkled corners of his eyes, and the curve of his lips, twitching in mirth—and he can feel himself fall harder and harder in love the more he looks at him till he feels like he could float right off the ground.
Haru looks up suddenly, still laughing behind his hand. His eyes are blue and bright and dancing with laughter, and if there’s anything that could make Makoto feel more deliriously in love right now, this is it. He can vaguely feel something that seems like a lamppost digging into his front, but it’s only a faraway annoyance in the face of Haru laughing like this, uninhibited and free.
Haru keeps looking at him, and he should perhaps be embarrassed at the open, naked affection for this boy he’s so, so in love with laid bare on his face for him and the rest of the world to see; but once again he can’t bring himself to care.
It’s what Haru sees written in Makoto’s face that causes the bubbles of laughter to slowly subside as he keeps staring at him. Makoto would be disappointed, but the look that replaces it is one that steals his breath away.
Makoto isn’t quite sure what it means, that look; he’s seen it before on his face on occasions where he’s poured his heart out to his best friend. Wide eyes, cheeks flushed, and eyes lit with a steady flame. But he knows that if he looks in the mirror when he thinks about Haru—about the million little things that make him who he is and make him fall in love with him over and over every single day—he’d see that same look on his own face too.
He doesn’t want to think of what all this might mean; it feels too much like standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing that a gentle push is all that it’ll take to fall, fall, fall into something that will change everything, and he’s not sure he’s ready.
Haru keeps walking closer and closer, seemingly unaware of the colour in his cheeks intensifying as he stares fixedly at Makoto. Time and space seem to shrink to just the two of them and the weight of their gazes, when—
Bam.
For the second time in five minutes, a body collides into the post.
Makoto can't help chuckling; Haru looks too adorable as he winces, confused, his lips forming into a pout. Maybe the crash messed up their heads a little bit, he wonders, because neither of them move an inch though their bodies are almost pressed up against each other. And he looks fondly down at Haru and Haru looks up at him with that quiet intensity in his eyes, and time stops for them even as the world spins on around them.
“Makoto,” murmurs Haru, and the way he says his name makes him feel like he does in those moments of weakness when he’s dared to imagine this, to hope that those looks meant he might possibly one day want him the same way he does. And suddenly Makoto's whole existence starts to ache for him with all the pent-up feelings he’s buried inside him all this while.
“H-Haru,” he says, but he doesn’t move.
And then Haru’s hand is sliding up his arm, over his shoulders, and Makoto has to wonder how he’s still standing, because he can’t remember the last time he breathed. Perhaps the post that’s still maybe sort of vaguely digging into his front has its uses, because he doesn't think he could stay upright without him.
But Haru won’t let him fall, he knows, and his hand reaches the back of Makoto's neck and holds fast.
Either the crash messed with his head and he’s imagining all of this, or it definitely messed with Haru’s head—because it keeps getting bigger and bigger—is he closing in? On his tiptoes? Is that a hand fisting in the front of Makoto’s jacket? His head must have suffered more damage than he thought, because this couldn’t be happening, could it?
Then Haru kisses him.
Haru kisses him, and Makoto can’t think anymore.
He’s too stunned to function at first, because Haru’s lips are on his, and he’s kissing him—Haru’s kissing him, this is really happening—and he just lets Haru awkwardly press his dry, chapped lips to his even drier mouth.
After a long moment, Haru stiffens against him, and the kiss falters as if he’s almost about to pull back, and this is all the encouragement Makoto needs to finally move. Pulling Haru back into his arms at once, he starts to kiss him back.
He has no idea what to do and neither does Haru, so he just does what comes naturally, teasing Haru's mouth open with his tongue. It's sweet and wet and wholly, completely Haru, and Makoto doesn't think he could ever grow tired of tasting it. And it’s all so far from perfect it’s laughable, all clashing teeth and too much saliva and inexperienced tongues sliding awkwardly against each other, but at the same time it’s completely, unutterably perfect. Makoto laughs into the kiss, and feels Haru's mouth curve into a smile against his own.
Then suddenly Haru grinds up against him, and Makoto isn’t laughing anymore.
(That vague lamppost-shaped thing that may or may not be trapped awkwardly in their embrace is still digging into their bodies, but they’re long past caring as they press closer and closer, but never close enough.)
Minutes—hours—maybe days pass like this, they can’t be sure, till a familiar voice calls out to them.
“Mako-chan, Haru-chan and a... lamppost? Interesting choice for a threesome, never would have thought you guys the type!”
Freezing at once, they break apart abruptly. Very carefully not looking at his face, Makoto lowers Haru gently to the ground.
Nagisa, Rei and Rin are standing only a few feet off, with two of them trying their hardest not to look them in the eye, while Nagisa peers interestedly at them.
As he slowly starts growing aware of his surroundings and other things in the universe besides Haru, Makoto remembers the lamppost that they’d been so intimately pressed up against all this while. He runs a hand down his chest and arms, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Haru doing the same with a slight grimace. There's an almost-ache there, and he’s pretty sure it’ll get worse later.
Then, out of the corner of his eye he spots a small crowd of people—mostly giggling teenaged girls—that had stopped to look at them. And as he prays his face won't melt off, he realises he doesn't really have room for even the slightest shred of shame when his heart is so full he feels like he could float off into the sky.
“Nagisa-kun!” Rei mutters, completely red-faced. “That’s not a beautiful thing to say at all!”
“Tch, about fuckin’ time,” Rin mutters, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Whatever, can we get going already?”
He turns to lead the way and Rei follows, only too glad to give Makoto and Haru their space. Nagisa is a little less willing, but Rei grabs his hand and if there's anything that can distract him from any further teasing, it's that.
“Shall we go?” Makoto murmurs, stomach twisting in embarrassment as he remembers how he’d lost control in the kiss. He glances at Haru, who’s also looking off to the side, refusing to meet his eye, and it comforts Makoto a little to know that at least he isn’t the only one.
He notices suddenly that Haru isn’t wearing his scarf, and automatically takes off his own to wrap it around his neck. Haru’s eyes widen, but he doesn't say anything.
Makoto makes to leave, but a hand reaches out and grabs his arm.
Turning in surprise, he finds Haru glaring at him. Nervously, Makoto tries to search his face for whatever’s on his mind, as Haru’s glare travels from his face, to his hand, and back up again.
Is it his hand? Did he place it on Haru's ass at some point during the kiss? Does Haru hate him now because he's a pervert? Palms growing sweaty, Makoto tries to replay the kiss frame by frame in his head.
It’s a pretty distracting task, so it takes him a few moments to register the fact that Haru has unravelled the scarf and is holding out one end to him, cheeks pink and eyes averted.
“H-Haru!” Makoto cries out when it hits him at last—he’s so happy, he pulls Haru into his arms and kisses him again, on the mouth, on his nose and his forehead. “Thank you,” he whispers against his mouth, touching his forehead to his.
Light-headed with happiness, he wraps the scarf around them both, and reaches for Haru's hand—but freezes before he touches it, suddenly self-conscious. What if it’s too much? What if he’s coming on too strong already? What if Haru—
Haru reaches out and grabs Makoto's hand himself, and Makoto gasps, eyes widening in surprise. For a long moment they just stand like that, hands clasped together, looking at each other with equally red faces.
“Are you guys ever going to fuckin’ move?” Rin calls from ahead, gesturing to them without looking back.
“Coming, coming!” Makoto laughs, and squeezes Haru’s hand in his gently. “Let’s go, Haru,” he tells him softly, and they set off together to join their friends.