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In science, the chaos theory refers to the unpredictability of the universe. According to the phenomenon known as the butterfly effect, a butterfly can, inadvertently of course, cause a natural disaster, be it typhoon or tornado, thousands of kilometers away simply by flapping its wings.
It may sound improbable, but the idea is that even the smallest change in a system can have a huge impact. In essence, the future cannot be predicted.
Or at least that’s what it says on the 365 Days of Butterflies calendar sitting next to Haru’s bed. It's an unnecessary addition to his life, but it was a going-away present from Rei, so Haru makes sure to use it. Typically, the calendar just says different things about butterfly colorings and migration patterns. Today’s page leaves Haru uneasy.
He suddenly feels as though he’s at the mercy of the universe, specifically the brimstone butterfly of Central Europe. Everything is ultimately out of his control. And for someone who knowingly manages to avoid change as much as possible, the thought of such an inescapable instability is rather disconcerting, especially first thing in the morning.
Haru scoffs at himself, blaming his witless just-woken brain for the unnerving thoughts, and uncurls from his sleeping position. His limbs always require a good stretch in the morning, so he rolls onto his back and lifts his arms over his head, palms nearly touching the low ceiling of his loft, while flexing his feet to work his calf muscles. He relaxes and lets his arms rest naturally behind his head.
And then he waits for the alarm on his cell phone to go off, like it always does ten minutes after he wakes up. A predictable start to a predictable day, butterflies be damned.
He takes this time to run through today's routine in his head. It's Saturday, or as his teammates teasingly call it, Makoto Day. It didn't take them long to discover that inviting Haru out on Saturdays was useless because he always had plans with his childhood best friend. He knows they’re reading too much into it, but really, it wouldn’t be a big deal at all to tell Makoto not to come over; it’s just easier to let the pattern repeat. That’s all it is.
Like every Saturday, he'll go for a quick jog, not straying too far from his apartment building, followed by a shower, breakfast, and laundry. This weekend he has a little bit of homework to finish up, but other than that, he'll have plenty of time to relax until Makoto shows up for a late lunch.
Haru turns his head to the wall closest to him. Another needless calendar hangs there, another going-away present, this one from Nagisa. He’s not really sure what it is about him that makes people assume he needs or wants calendars, but the one from Coach Sasabe was wildly inappropriate and ended up in the trash.
This one, though, is quite nice to look at.
The pictures for each month are all interesting architectural pools from around the world. February displays a Singaporean hotel with its outdoor pool raised on top of the building. The photo itself is beautiful, the twilight sky glowing pink and orange; what could certainly be called terrifying instead looks warm and inviting. That's probably why Makoto, whom Haru thought would be scared of the daunting two-hundred-meter height, said it might be nice to go there. Haru was pleased by that revelation, for some reason or another.
The calendar also has markings on all of their birthdays and holidays—most of them real, but he supposes that National Send Nagisa a Cake Day is probably made up. It currently being February, Nagisa drew pointed teeth along the top border of the second day’s square to signify Rin’s birthday.
And then there's today, February 14th, with clichéd hearts surrounding a badly drawn winking face with its tongue sticking out. Haru centers in on the date. It's just a normal Saturday, he assures himself, trying not to think too deeply about why he needs the assurance.
Right on schedule, his phone starts its quiet steady beeping, drawing attention to Haru's increasingly irregular heartbeat. The reliability of his alarm, though, gives him an odd comfort. While most people abhor their alarms, Haru finds it relieving, a sign that everything is going as it should be, and his heartbeat slows to its normal pace.
He turns it on to shut it off and checks his messages. Sometimes Makoto will send him some random thought after Haru has already gone to sleep. This morning, though, his only missed messages are the four from Mrs. Tachibana.
His heart beats extra loud, just once, just to nudge him as if to say, "Hey, this isn't what you were expecting, is it?" He considers ignoring the message and asking Makoto about it later, but ultimately gives in, just in case she needs something important.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Nope, not important at all. He continues reading anyway.
Last week, Ran and Ren were really missing you and Makoto, so they wanted to look through some old photo albums. We came across these pictures of Makoto from Valentine’s Day when you boys were six years old and he made you chocolate. You might not even remember, but you were both very happy that day.
Haru recalls it immediately. He can clearly picture himself opening the front door to greet Makoto, who held a small white box filled with messy little chocolate cubes that were very obviously made without much interference from either parent.
For some reason, the white box is what stands out most in his mind.
Makoto drew all over it with markers for decoration and explained to Haru what all the poorly drawn symbols meant. “The hearts are because I love you,” he said as if it was the easiest most sensible thing to say. “And these are stars because we like to look at them at night. And this is us and we’re holding hands because that’s nice. And this is the sun because it’s what you said I remind you of!” Makoto smiled widest at that, Haru still remembers, blushing at the awareness that even now, Makoto still shines very brightly.
The whole idea of giving chocolate to Haru originated from their teacher at the time. She told the class that people used Valentine’s Day as an opportunity to give the confection to "those who were closest to their heart." And Makoto looked so happy when he told Haru, repeating it word for word, that he was that person.
Haru ate the chocolate without hesitation, even if it was too sweet. And that was the last time Makoto had given him any. The next year, the two of them found out that their teacher had neglected to mention to the class that it’s the girls who give the chocolate to the boys. As a result, Haru never gave him any chocolate, either. He’s briefly overcome with remorse for never getting to make Makoto as happy as he remembers being back then.
He scrolls up before the text message to see the three photos Mrs. Tachibana sent along, too: Makoto at the kitchen counter stirring a bowl of melted chocolate; Makoto holding the finished box; Haru accepting the box from Makoto, both of them with smiles on their faces.
Sudden chaos.
A storm swirls in Haru’s heart.
He thinks about Makoto, and his chest aches and rumbles with what he can only identify, somewhat reluctantly, as longing to be with him. It’s not the first time this has happened, and it’s not the first time he thinks, as a result, about how spoiled he was by their time in Iwatobi.
Before they came to university, he and Makoto saw each other nearly every day. He knew all he had to do was walk down the stairs and Makoto’s house would be there; Makoto himself was just as reliable, always by his side, well within reach. But now they’re forced apart, and for the first time, Haru knows what it feels like to really miss his best friend over and over, more and more with each passing week.
Even though they message each other every day, reading words on the screen can’t come close to Makoto’s presence. Sitting beside him, seeing his smile, hearing his thoughts about everything. When he’s with Makoto, he’s lying on the heated sand back in Iwatobi, arms resting at his side, a sunny day—always a sunny day—letting the warm waves wash over his legs up to his fingertips.
But if there’s one thing Haru knows he’s good at it, it’s suppressing his feelings about Makoto. He recognizes how precious he is to him, there’s no subduing something rooted so deeply in his core, but once it begins to go beyond that into something more explicit, the moment his heart swells and starts to overflow with emotion, the quick instant when he imagines telling Makoto how much he cares about him, he gets scared of his own thoughts and manages to ebb the flow before it can spill over into something tangible.
Right now, though, he’s having trouble escaping those thoughts. His heart is in turmoil, heavy with havoc, too heavy to get up and out of bed. He rolls over to go back to sleep, knowing it will be futile, that he’s only delaying that inevitable moment where he gives up trying to silence the voice in the back of his head telling him that Makoto would appreciate some Valentine’s Day chocolate.
For the time being, he’ll lie in bed and convince himself he can sleep it off. These feelings will subside, like they always do. Makoto will come over, like he always does. It will be the same as last week and every week before that. There’s no sense doing something as entirely excessive as buying him chocolate before he comes—or worse, making it for him. It’s the girls who give boys chocolate. It doesn’t matter what happened when they were kids.
Haru’s entire day has been thrown out of order, and he’s annoyed and angry but still completely in control of the situation and his emotions.
Or so he stubbornly wanted to believe.
* * *
Five hours later, the inevitable arrives.
Haru held out as long as he could but ultimately gave up, as time dangerously approached Makoto's scheduled arrival. He rushed to the store to buy some nice Valentine’s Day chocolate in hopes it would at least temporarily silence the storm in his heart. But then he saw the silicon mold of a dozen little fish and it made him smile, which of course made him imagine Makoto’s face lighting up, and he felt compelled beyond all reason to buy it.
And now, as Haru struggles to remove the hardened chocolate pieces from their fish-shaped molds, he panics. It’s a feeling he’s all too familiar with. That quickened heartbeat sounding loudly in his ears, a shuddering unsteady hand, lungs hung heavy with cement. Past memories of Makoto appear unwillingly, instances where he can still feel the fear of losing the person who means the most to him.
But despite those recollections that continue to throb painfully in his heart, a smile sneaks past Haru’s lips. For someone who has the ability to put his mind so effortlessly at ease, Makoto sure is good at making him worry.
“Idiot,” he mumbles under his breath, not sure if he’s talking about Makoto or himself.
He finally manages to get the second of the twelve fish loose and can’t help but admire his accomplishment. The chocolate is slightly glossy, and the etchings of the scales show up very visibly. He moves on to the next one, trying to be careful in completing this self-inflicted last-minute task while also hurrying to finish before Makoto arrives.
A rational person would probably tell Haru he’s overreacting, he realizes. It’s just chocolate, and Makoto is incredibly easy to please when it comes to his favorite food. That same person would probably ask why Haru’s even going to the trouble to make his best friend chocolates for Valentine’s Day.
Haru thinks that person needs to mind their own business.
At last, the final fish pops out of the mold. “There we go,” he says to himself, exhaling with relief. As he sets it inside the green tin to join the other perfectly formed chocolates, his phone buzzes. He unlocks the screen and smiles at Makoto’s two messages.
First: I just picked up the pizza, so I’ll see you soon!
Second: a picture of Makoto smiling, holding the pizza box up to his face, as though Haru needs proof that the pizza has in fact been acquired.
Easily one of the best things that happened since coming to Tokyo is Makoto’s ongoing obsession with taking pictures of everything and sharing them with Haru. Living apart and going to different schools, there’s a greater variety in the things they see on a daily basis compared to their lives in Iwatobi.
A small smile emerges as he saves the photo to the album completely dedicated to all the ones from Makoto, photos of cute cats and lovely sunsets and that one blurry photo of Makoto’s face that he accidentally sent and demanded Haru delete immediately.
The pizza place they occasionally visit is only about a five minute walk from Haru’s apartment, so that’s how much time he has to clean up and hide all the evidence of this ridiculous task. Luckily, he’s able to quickly wash and dry the dishes. Now he just has to figure out what to do with the box of chocolates. When should he give them? What should he say? How does he stop his face from flushing every time he thinks about it?
He decides to carry the tin out to the living area. His panic from before slowly transforms into a nervous energy as he realizes he’s finally about to repay Makoto for that chocolate all those years ago. What outcome are you expecting from this? he asks himself. Is it the same as the outcome you’re hoping for?
He’s not sure, or rather, Haru chooses to ignore the introspective question and busies himself with setting the tin on the table in a way that looks like he casually tossed it there. He sits down and tries to make himself look just as casually placed, but he’s suddenly aware of his hands and specifically what to do with them. He has forgotten how to do anything remotely casual, so it’s a startling relief when Makoto knocks lightly before opening the door and puts an end to his uncommon bout of clumsiness.
Makoto walks inside and smiles when he sees Haru. “Ah, it’s such a nice day. Warmer than I expected. I probably didn’t need my jacket, but I was already wearing it so I left it on,” he explains a little too thoroughly. He removes his overnight bag from his shoulder and sets it down in front of the door. “Did you go outside at all today?”
Of course I went out, Haru thinks. He had to rush to the store to buy chocolate and a mold that was innocuous enough that it wouldn’t be misinterpreted as romantic—even if it did happen to be the correct interpretation—and an ugly chartreuse tin that he’s sure is identical to the one his grandma used for recipe cards, but it was the first thing he saw and he didn’t have time to stand around contemplating various containers. “Mm, I went for a walk a little bit ago,” he lies without technically lying.
Makoto goes to the kitchen counter to set down the pizza box. “It smells good in here,” he remarks. He smiles, his eyes sneaking around to look for any evidence of sweets while his heart starts to beat faster. Surely Haru knows it’s Valentine’s Day. “Were you baking cookies or something?”
Haru stands up and makes his way to join Makoto and the pizza in the kitchen. “Why would I do that?” he answers a little too angrily, but he is angry at Makoto’s keen dog-like sense of smell. He grabs two plates and two glasses out of the cabinet and sets them down by the sink.
Makoto’s not sure why Haru’s upset by the question, but he doesn’t want to pry, so he simply unzips his jacket and smiles. “Got it. Maybe one of your neighbors then, or something.”
Haru watches Makoto’s face fall in disappointment and can practically see his poor puppy dog ears flatten against his head. Shit, maybe he should have baked cookies. At least then he could have played it off as being an unintentional Valentine’s Day gift. Chocolate is so painfully obvious. He wonders if it’s too late to fake being sick and send Makoto home.
But before Haru can give a feigned cough, Makoto takes off his jacket, and Haru doesn’t want to ever send him home because damn it, he’s wearing that navy flannel button-up that somehow makes his green eyes glow even brighter. It’s just a bit too tight across his chest, and Haru knows the brave button that’s doing its best to stay attached is fighting a losing battle, and he hopes he’s around to see its demise.
And then there’s that same heather gray shirt that Makoto always wears underneath, and damn it he mentioned that it’s warm outside, so there are probably light sweat marks across the back because Makoto’s back is always the first place to start sweating, and Haru hates himself for knowing that and not being able to do anything with the information except blush furiously.
While Makoto hangs up his jacket by the front door, Haru desperately distracts himself with their drinks, pouring water for himself and milk for Makoto. He hears Makoto walking back toward him, so Haru opens the fridge and moves things around for no other reason than to give himself a chance to bend over, because Makoto deserves some retaliation for wearing that shirt.
And maybe Makoto doesn’t notice, or worse doesn’t care, but Haru’s wearing his black joggers that are almost too fitted in the hips with a seam up the backside cut just right to really make his ass look good, and if someone were to suggest he wore them on purpose because Makoto was coming over today, he would never confess to such an absurd accusation.
“Haru, I’ll have milk if you—oh, you already poured me some. Thank—“ Makoto almost manages to finish his sentence until he gets to the kitchen and sees Haru in the fridge and completely forgets what words even are, let alone how to speak them.
He can’t help but notice Haru’s pants. They hug his body in all the right places, especially his butt, and even though he has seen Haru’s bare legs more times than he can possibly count, there’s something that he finds particularly alluring about them being covered up, knowing what’s under there but not being able to see it. And the best part about these particular pants is that they’re just thin and tight enough that sometimes Makoto can make out the faint outline from the hem on Haru’s boxer briefs along the top of his thigh, and thinking about it makes him want to shove the entire pizza in his mouth.
He manages to remain calm and opens the pizza box just as Haru finishes whatever it was he was doing and closes the fridge.
Haru stands next to Makoto and waits for him to finish piling up his plate. “Leave some for me,” he jokes.
Makoto laughs and grabs his fourth and final piece. “I’m hungry! I haven’t eaten all day.”
“Whose fault is that?” Haru shoots back. “Don’t make me starve because of your bad decisions.” He takes two slices for himself and follows Makoto to the small table, disappointed when they sit just barely too far apart for their knees to touch.
And Makoto won’t say it, but it is kind of Haru’s fault. When he woke up this morning, he opened his phone to find a message from his mom. He laughed fondly when he saw the attached images. As the story goes, on that Valentine’s Day when he was six years old, Makoto came to his mom holding the small glass jar filled with his life savings of approximately 750 yen. He looked up at her with big worrying eyes and asked, “Mommy, how much does chocolate cost?”
She assured him that he didn’t need to buy his own chocolate and offered him a piece from his dad’s supply in the cabinet above the sink.
“No, Mommy,” he replied. “I mean the special valentine chocolate. Is it very much?”
Makoto explained that wanted to buy the special valentine chocolate for Haru-chan. His mom told him she could help him make his own, because that would be even more meaningful. Some would probably say that he and Haru were too young back then to understand the implications of the chocolate exchange, but sometimes he thinks he understood his feelings better then than he does now.
And that’s when Makoto realized the weight of his heart, nearly bursting with every thought and feeling for Haru that he shoved in there over the years—his entire life, really—refusing to let them escape. He further realized that this would be the first Valentine’s Day they spent alone together. He even thought about bringing Haru chocolate, like he did that time when they were just little kids.
But things were easier then. The older he and Haru got, the more awkward it seemed to tell him things like I love you, even though he cared about him more deeply than anyone, himself included, could ever understand. And the more difficult it became to give him any sort of physical contact aside from offering his hand, even though he wanted to embrace him in a tight hug and never let go. But the thing that hurt the most was how much it ached to be apart from him. He thought it would get easier, that he would get used to the distance, but he never did.
He considers that he’s reading too much into things, but it seems to be the same for Haru. He was the one who first suggested that their Saturday evening hangouts begin a little earlier and end a little later, until it was just expected that Makoto would spend the night. It didn’t matter if Haru had early practice Sunday morning; Makoto would sleep in and wait for him to come back. If one of them was swamped with homework, that was fine, too; it was still better to be with each other. Listening to Haru’s voice, laughing along with his teasing, being completely unabashedly himself. When he’s with Haru, he’s lying in bed wrapped in the softest blanket, warm and comfortable and safe.
So when he woke up today and recalled that childhood memory, his body was heavy with emotion and expectations. He managed to somewhat divert his attention to deep cleaning his apartment, and before he could even calm down enough to eat anything, it was time to leave to pick up lunch.
And now here he is with Haru, together on Valentine’s Day, sharing that lunch. It only takes Makoto ten seconds to notice the green tin in front of him. It reminds him of a certain container that Haru’s grandma had, but he never recognized it here before, so it must be new. “What’s this?” Makoto asks, poking the tin to gauge how heavy its contents are.
Haru’s eye twitches; he knew Makoto would notice the gift sooner or later.
Panic, panic, panic. What if Makoto says he can’t accept the chocolate? What if he correctly assesses the situation but doesn’t feel the same? What if Haru really loses Makoto this time? The storm in his chest grows suddenly violent.
He wants to run away before giving Makoto the chance to do it, but he manages to respond. “Oh, that’s for you. If you want it. After lunch.” He speaks in short sentences to try and keep his voice from cracking.
Makoto doesn’t even know what it is, but his eyes and mouth go wide with excitement. Was Haru lying about the cookies earlier to keep it a surprise? He tries not to get his hopes up with speculation, so instead he eats as quickly as possible, trying not to make it seem too obvious.
He wipes off his hands and his mouth and then reaches for the tin, but Haru grabs it first.
“Oi, I’m still eating.” He holds it behind him out of Makoto’s reach.
“Haru,” Makoto whines.
“It’s nothing worth getting that excited over.”
“Then let me open it!”
Haru moves the tin to his lap. “After lunch.” He secretly hopes Makoto will refuse to comply and attempt to take it from him anyway. Then he’ll playfully grab Makoto’s big strong arms while Makoto gently pushes him to the ground. His heart beats faster, and he can almost hear it laughing at him for even thinking such things.
Makoto sighs, exaggerated, and says he understands. He wonders if it would be silly to try and grab the box, but he doesn’t want to disrupt Haru’s meal. Still, the thought of trying to wrestle it from him makes him feel suddenly warmer. The problem is, he already took off his jacket, and he can’t take off his shirt because he can feel the slightly wet fabric of his t-shirt clinging to his back, and the last thing he wants is for Haru to see something that unattractive.
He opts for rolling up the sleeves to at least let his skin breathe a little more. Flannel probably wasn’t the best choice for today, considering the temperature outside, but it just so happened to be the shirt he saw first when he opened his closet, and it's definitely not like he has purposely kept it at the front of his closet ever since that time Haru said he liked the color on him.
Haru looks up from his pizza and cannot even believe Makoto has the audacity to come into his home and expose his forearms like that, muscles tight against the rolled cuffs.
Makoto folds his arms on the table and tries to start a conversation while he waits for Haru to finish eating. “You know, the girl at the pizza place looked at me so pitifully when she handed me the food. She probably thought I was spending Valentine’s Day all alone without a date.”
It sounds to Haru like Makoto is implying that this is a date, but surely he’s misunderstanding. “That’s exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?”
“That’s true.” So it’s definitely not a date, then. It was too much to hope Haru would call it that. “But I’m not alone.”
“You should have played it up more, and maybe she would have felt bad and given you our food for free.”
Makoto brings his hand to his chin and thoughtfully considers. “Well, she did look like she wanted to give me a hug. Maybe I should have let her.” He watches Haru for a reaction and swears he can see him clench his jaw.
Haru takes another bite of his final slice of pizza but has found he lost his appetite. He stacks his plate on top of Makoto’s and hands over the box as promised. It’s best to just get it over with, lest he lose Makoto to some pizza girl who would take pity on his broken heart.
Makoto quickly pulls off the lid and identifies the chocolates as unmistakably handmade. His face drops when he realizes what they mean. “Oh, did someone give you these?” He smiles, hurt but trying to pretend like he’s not. He wonders who it was. A girl from class? A girl from the swim team? A random girl he met earlier today on his walk who has everything in common with Haru and was also carrying a tin of chocolate just in case she suddenly met the man of her dreams by happenstance?
Haru’s chest tightens at the thought of giving Makoto secondhand chocolate, and he almost calls him out for even thinking he’d be that insensitive. “No, Makoto, they’re for you. I made them for you.” He speaks as seriously as he can so there’s no more confusion about where the gift came from, and his face blushes as further proof.
He keeps his composure even though his insides are screaming and dying and also on fire somehow. Probably not literally on fire, although he thinks it’s likely his face is going to burst into flames at any moment from embarrassment.
I made you Valentine’s Day chocolate, he’s saying. It’s a coward’s confession, because he’s not really confessing. He’s just putting words out there and leaving Makoto to interpret them however he wants.
And he hopes he interprets them how he intends. Maybe that’s not fair, but it’s what he hopes. It may look like chocolate, but Haru feels like he wrapped up his heart and placed it in that tin.
Makoto thinks he’s an idiot for jumping to conclusions. Of course Haru would never give him a gift that someone else gave him. It just seemed out of the realm of possibilities that Haru would purposely make chocolate, specially for him, on today of all days.
He’s overcome with gratitude and looks up to meet Haru’s eyes, staring deeply into them just for a moment before speaking. “Haru… thank you.” He marvels at the cute little chocolate fish, trusting that they don’t contain any actual fish flavor. “They’re almost too nice to eat!” All of his feelings come together to yell at him that his best friend just gave him handmade Valentine’s Day chocolate. He takes a piece and swallows his feelings along with it, trying to keep them from jumping to more conclusions. “It’s really good! You put caramel in the center? Amazing…”
“It was easy. I’m glad you like them.” And he is glad Makoto likes them, but for all he knows, Makoto is just happy for his friendship chocolate and so happy to be Haru’s friend and happy they can be together today as friends, and Haru has never hated the word friend as vehemently as he does right at this moment.
Makoto picks up another piece and holds it up. “Do you want to try one?” He smiles as he moves it closer to Haru’s mouth. “Here!” The exhilaration of the action incites the acceleration of his heartbeat. But Haru didn’t leave him any other choice. He can’t figure out what he wants, so Makoto just needs to push him a little to see how he reacts.
Haru’s still not sure if Makoto is just being his same naïve self or if he’s ruthlessly acting on emotions that Haru wants to believe he feels because he can no longer deny that he himself feels them, too. He opens his mouth and lightly flicks his tongue over the tip of Makoto’s finger as he accepts the chocolate. It tastes salty almost, as though his hands are sweaty. It’s unusual. Even after swimming, his hands are always warm and dry. Could he be nervous?
Makoto watches Haru eat the chocolate, and he can’t stop himself from staring at his lips. He tightens his hands into fists, finally finding the fortitude to ask permission to kiss him. He hesitates just once, just to make sure he's ready, and recounts the entire day: his own feelings, the chocolate gift, the way Haru's looking at him right now, the fact that he definitely just licked Makoto's finger.
It’s not just his imagination that Haru will reciprocate his feelings. There’s no way. “Haru…” he starts.
Makoto’s heartbeat thumps loudly in his ears, so deafening that he almost doesn’t hear his phone chime to tell him he has a message. He and Haru both jump, startled, as the tension around them breaks into a billion tiny worthless pieces. Haru wants to pick up the phone and throw it against the wall and leave it just as worthless, but he doesn’t think Makoto will appreciate that.
Before Haru can see whom the message is from or what it says, Makoto grabs the phone. However, Haru does manage to notice the pink heart emoji. It’s a big heart with a smaller heart next to it, and he can’t even fathom what it means exactly, but it is a heart and there’s really only one reason to use that. No one says innocent things like, "Did you finish the worksheet yet?" followed by a heart emoji.
A smile spreads slowly across Makoto's face, which is usually the best sight Haru has ever seen, but right now he feels rejected before he even got to tell Makoto how much he means to him, how much he’s always meant to him, and how desperately he wants to kiss him. The message probably says something like, "I hope you enjoyed the chocolate I made for you!" because of course Makoto probably got chocolate already, better chocolate, imported from Switzerland and not shaped like stupid fish.
Makoto returns his phone to the table and glances at Haru; he looks irritated. Is it because the text interrupted the moment they were sharing? Or does he think it’s from someone he’s prepared to fight to win Makoto’s love? Makoto blushes at the thought and thinks it’s best to clarify. “That was just a mass text. Check your phone. You probably got it, too.”
Haru furrows his brow in confusion, but he does as he’s told and pulls out his phone. Sure enough, there’s a single missed message.
Thinking of you today, Valentine!!
It’s from an unknown number, which can only mean one thing. He rolls his eyes and looks at Makoto. “Ki—?”
Before even a second syllable from Kisumi’s cursed name leaves his mouth, Haru is able to stop himself. He’s aware of the terrible timing and what it would sound like he’s saying to Makoto. This wouldn’t be the first time his name caused such awkward confusion, and he bets it’s something that brings Kisumi unmitigated glee. Haru absolutely wants to kiss Makoto more than anything right now, but he won’t give Kisumi the satisfaction of being responsible for it.
And then he notices Makoto staring at his mouth. Haru realizes how dry his lips feel and absentmindedly licks them.
“Do you want me to?” Makoto asks quietly, blush appearing across his cheeks. And because he doesn't want Haru to assume he's only asking because of something as frivolous as Kisumi's name, he clarifies, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "I was about to ask you, before... that. So, do you want me to?"
Haru doesn’t know how to respond because he still doesn’t believe this is real. “Want you to what?” He regrets his response immediately, certain that his hesitation is going to scare Makoto away.
Luckily for Haru, all of Makoto’s doubt has dissolved into determination. He smiles, sitting up on his knees to scoot closer until they lightly touch Haru’s leg. “Do you want me to kiss you?” He smiles faintly and stares into Haru’s eyes. He can tell Haru’s not sure, that he’s probably struggling in the same way Makoto has been, and that gives him hope. He hasn’t said no yet. “Haru, please. I can’t do it unless I know it’s ok. Otherwise I would have done it already, a long time ago.”
Haru can’t remember the last time he blinked or breathed, and his heart is vibrating so fast it must be humming inside his chest. There’s a full-fledged hurricane raging inside of him, dangerous and turbulent, and he wants to scream over the noise and tell Makoto to just kiss him already, but he can’t speak the words. He manages to drop his chin, once and then twice—the best nod he can give. He starts to close his eyes just as Makoto leans forward to place their lips together.
And instantly, the storm inside of him comes to an end.
The clouds clear, making way for the sun. And it shines incredibly, giving light to every bit of love and adoration he feels for Makoto. It’s an overwhelming sensation, like he’s been holding his breath his entire life and is finally exhaling for the first time. But before he can thoroughly enjoy the kiss, Makoto pulls away.
Haru opens his eyes to see Makoto’s beautiful blushing face and can’t help but ask, “Is… is that it?” It comes out much ruder than he intends.
Makoto stutters in embarrassment, unable to form any real words, and covers his face with both of his hands before burying it in Haru’s chest. He lets out a muffled apology. Haru laughs all the tension out of his body and puts his hand in Makoto’s soft, fluffy hair.
“Don’t apologize. I just… wanted to kiss you longer, that’s all.” Haru supposes it’s fine to say embarrassing things now. He supposes they’re going to be saying a lot of embarrassing things to each other from this point on.
Makoto nuzzles against his chest and Haru swears he really is just like a big puppy, his imaginary tail starting to wag again. Makoto leans back from Haru’s chest and smiles, face still bright red, before leaning in for another kiss. Haru moves his hand down to the nape of Makoto’s neck, rubbing it gently with his thumb. Makoto finds his other hand, sliding his own fingers between Haru’s and sliding his tongue past Haru’s slightly parted lips.
They open their mouths just a little at first, then wider, their tongues meeting naturally between them, soft and slick and tasting of chocolate. Even if they hadn’t been indulging minutes before, Haru thinks Makoto would still taste just as sweet.
Haru lets Makoto take the lead, doing his best to match his movements and follow his pace. His heart beats so fast he thinks it must have stopped, like time itself has stopped around them, and he can’t contain his voice when Makoto puts his other hand on Haru’s waist and around his back, eliciting the smallest most involuntary moan from the back of Haru’s throat.
They allow their tongues to try and figure things out a little bit longer before separating their mouths, letting their foreheads rest against each other for a moment, breathing heavily. Makoto plants a light kiss on the side of Haru’s neck and leans forward into his chest again in total embarrassment.
Haru can’t contain his laughter; Makoto is so adorable and he feels ok thinking that. “Are you going to do that every time we kiss?” And then, because he wants to know how it feels to say it, “It’s adorable, you know.” He laughs softly and speaks in a whisper. “You’re adorable.”
Makoto blushes at Haru’s words and the thought that they will kiss again, of course they will. They can kiss each other any time they want to. And he thinks it’s going to be hard to stop himself from doing it all the time. He laughs along with Haru and wraps his arms around him.
Haru reaches forward to grab Makoto’s phone off the table. He holds it out in front of them and tells Makoto to turn around so they can take a picture together. Makoto is surprised, but he loves that idea so he doesn’t argue. He rests his head against Haru’s chest and keeps his arms wrapped around him while looking into the camera.
Haru snaps the photo and is in awe of how cute they look together, both of them quite obviously embarrassed but smiling, happy. Haru will have to remember to send himself that photo later. But first, he starts typing.
Makoto laughs, peeking over the screen. “What are you doing?”
He watches as Haru sends the picture to Kisumi, with a follow-up text.
He’s my Valentine, not yours.
He finds that same heart emoji Kisumi used and inserts it three times at the end of the sentence, just to mock him.
Makoto laughs even louder. “He’s going to send that to everyone, you know!”
Haru shrugs and leans back to lie on the floor, folding his hands over his stomach. “Good. It saves us the trouble of having to tell them ourselves.”
Makoto lies down on his side next to him, bending his arm to prop his head up on his hand. “That’s true. Do you think anyone will be surprised?”
“They’ll probably say things like, ‘Oh, it’s about time.’” And Haru smiles because he thinks the same. He’s a little irritated with himself for taking this long to finally confront his feelings, but there’s no point in being upset about the past. Whether they started years ago makes no difference now. He couldn’t be happier in this moment.
Makoto clears his throat. “You know what would be nice? If we could make cookies tomorrow.”
Haru sits up and turns back to glare at him. “I worked hard on that chocolate!”
“I know and I love it! But it really did smell like cookies when I walked in!” He laughs, watching Haru try to hold back a smile. “I can’t stop thinking about them.”
Haru resumes his position lying on his back next to Makoto and smiles. “Of course we can do that.”
Makoto places his hand over Haru’s, dropping his other arm so his head can fall right next to him. “It’s funny, isn’t it?” he asks.
“Hm?”
“After all these years, you’re still the one who’s closest to my heart, Haru-chan.”
Haru blushes and leans over to kiss Makoto’s forehead. He’s right; they’ve been connected to each other from the beginning, as far back as either of them can remember. The bond between them is unbreakable, and Haru knows that it will keep them together for the rest of their lives.
Just hours ago, Haru thought that today would be a day like any other day. But as it turns out, even a small catalyst can spark large consequences. He thinks he has found a new appreciation for the unexpected, and maybe it's all right not to have control over everything.
Makoto shifts onto his back, and Haru slides closer to move his head against his shoulder. Their hands find each other easily between them, fingers interlacing while they stare at the ceiling, taking a much needed moment to process the day's events. Haru allows his heart to gently overflow, warming his insides, as those familiar waves float over the both of them.