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I quit swimming.
That was the last time Haruka heard his voice. Rin ran out of the swim club, double doors slamming behind him. The slam echoed through the empty hall, reverberating off the walls and ringing loud in Harkua’s ears.
I quit swimming. I quit swimming. I quit swimming.
The short, simple sentence repeated itself over and over in Haruka’s mind like a curse. By the time the boy was able to collect his sense, he had been escorted out of the building, swim club locked behind him. The familiar blue tiling of the pool had disappeared from under his feet, replaced with grey gravel and wet cement. Haruka absently wondered why the cement was wet; the rainy season was far from any time soon.
“Haruka. You’re gonna get sick if you walk around wet like that. Dry off,” Haruka found a towel on his head, a towel that had definitely not been there before. He raised his hands slowly, placing them gingerly on the rough fabric of the threadbare cloth. He looked up, staring at the towel’s owner blankly, as if to say “I don’t what to do with this,”.
Coach Sasabe had never known what to do or what to say to the usually stoic boy. During his time enrolled at the swim club, Haruka had never waited for instruction or feedback- he would just dive straight into the water, swim freely, and refuse to climb out until his body was pruned, or Makoto had him forcibly removed. His expression was always neutral; Coach Sasabe was positive he’d never even see the boy crack the smallest of smiles. Then again, he’d never seen Haruka express any sort of emotion outside of “water”, so when a glassy look crossed the boy’s ocean-colored eyes, Coach Sasabe crouched down, ruffling Haruka’s hair in the towel.
I quit swimming. I quit swimming. I quit swimming.
Their exchange was silent. Coach Sasabe didn’t offer to walk Haruka home, and Haruka didn’t ask for company. Sasabe draped the towel around the boy’s neck when his hair had been sufficiently dried, not bothering to ask for it back. Haruka watched vacantly as his coach’s motorcycle faded into a black speck in the distance. He wondered if he’d ever see the coach again. Haruka turned and looked back at his swim club- a place that he had once called “home”.
I quit swimming. I quit swimming. I quit swimming.
Haruka pulled his goggles off from around his neck and over his head. Holding them up to the light, the boy caught his reflection in the blue lenses. Droplets of pool water dripped down the plastic, magnifying the azure gaze that stared back at him. Gripping the rubber straps tight in his fists, Haruka whispered to himself,
“Me too,”
Haruka walked, towel wrapped tight around his neck, swim club disappearing behind him with every step. A pair of blue, cracked goggles lay forgotten on the asphalt.
“Haru-chan? We have swim practice today, remember? It’s Tuesday,” Makoto reaches out, catching Haruka’s sleeve between his fingers. It’s completely unlike his friend to forget about swim practice, so when the shorter boy goes to retrieve his street shoes, Makoto trails behind him, concerned. Haruka looks down, eyes focused intently on the hand holding his shirt sleeve.
“Ah! Sorry!” Makoto sputters, pulling his hand back with a flail. Haruka’s arm drops listlessly to his side, but his gaze remains trained on where his hand had been. Makoto frowns, worry etching itself onto his face. Haruka had always been rather unresponsive, but…
“Haru-chan?” Makoto leans down, meeting his friend at eye level and casting a shadow across Haruka’s face. His brows scrunch together at the sudden absence of light, and Haruka’s eyes shifts, trying to locate the source of the shadow. He’s met by the sudden presence of Makoto, and Haruka recoils involuntarily. When had he gotten that close? Why was he that close? Haruka blinks twice, shakes his head, and turns back to toe off his indoor shoes.
The two boys stand in silence, one absently tying on his sneakers, the other fidgeting uncomfortably in place. Makoto tugs at his shirt sleeves, stretching them far past his hands. He wrings the fabric between his fingers, frantically trying to figure a way to voice his concern. The idea of “awkward silence” between himself and Haruka had never become an issue; the shorter boy nearly never spoke unless prompted, Makoto consistently chattering incessantly about something trivial. Makoto never asked Haruka to speak, and likewise, Haruka never asked Makoto to be quiet. It was an unspoken agreement between the two friends, one they were both comfortable with.
But when Haruka brushes past the brunette and out of their school, Makoto, for the first time, finds himself lost for words.
---
The swim team shares a pregnant silence, mouths agape at the news.
“Nanase informed me before practice that he’s resigning from the swim team as of today,” The coach scratches the back of his head, looking equally as perplexed at the concept as the rest of his students. “A shame. Weird as the kid was, and as much as he never listened, he swam the fastest Free I’d ever seen. Not that he cared, anyways…” Makoto had tuned out his coach’s voice after he had said “resigning,”. Haruka resigning from the swim team- it was less likely than Haruka saying he wanted something other than mackerel for dinner. Surely, Makoto thinks, the coach had misunderstood and Haruka was simply feeling too ill to swim today. Makoto tugs on his fingers, shifting his weight from side to side. He bites his lip, brows furrowing tighter together the longer he let the news fester in his mind.
“...chibana. Tachibana!” Makoto flinches, drawn away from his thoughts and to the attention of his coach.
“Can you take the 100m Free in place of Nanase?”
“I…” Makoto looks to his right out of habit, suddenly hit with the realization that the spot beside him was empty. “I..No sir! I’m...I’m quitting too!” Makoto tears his swim cap and goggles off of his head, dropping them on the wet cement of the pool yard. He hears some snickers and whispered comments that vaguely sounded like ...mama Makoto...can’t take care of himself...and that kid was weird anyways.
Sprinting to the locker room and sloppily throwing his clothes over his head, Makoto whispers to himself,
“It’s pointless without you, Haru,”
---
“...been sitting in there for hours…”
“...let him…prune for all I care…”
“...check on him…”
“...your son…”
Haruka sinks lower into the tub, blowing bubbles onto the surface of the water. His skin had pruned past recognition hours ago, the tips of his fingers and toes tinted a dark purple. The water had chilled enough to make Haruka’s teeth clatter together, but he refuses to get out. He could fall asleep here. The boy closes his eyes, submerging himself completely. Black hair fans out along the water’s edge, a dark contrast against the white tile of the tub and pale skin.
A slam from the front of the house jolts Haruka upright, water splashing out of the tub and onto the bathroom floor. His breaths come out ragged and shallow- how long had he been submerged? An unfamiliar tightness forms in his chest. Haruka presses his palm over his heart, consciously trying to breathe slower and evenly. He throws his opposite arm over his eyes, slouching back into the tub.
Haruka would never admit to being afraid of drowning.
A knock on the bathroom door draws his attention away from himself.
“Haru-chan? You in there?” Haruka knows he doesn’t have to answer as Makoto slides the bathroom door open, peeking his head in the crack. A sad, relieved expression passes over the brunette’s face.
“Hey, there you are,” Haruka lolls his head over the edge of the tub, giving Makoto a curt nod in acknowledgement before dipping himself under the water again. The taller boy slips into the bathroom, pants rolled up to his knees to avoid getting the cuffs wet. He pulls the step stool out from under the shower rack, setting it beside the tub and seating himself down.
They remain silent until Haruka resurfaces to breathe.
“Who let you in?” It’s the first thing Haruka’s said all day, his voice raspy from being unused for so long.
“No one. I let myself in. The door was unlocked,”
“Parents?” Makoto shrugs and shakes his head.
“They weren’t here when I got here. The car is gone,”
“I see,” Haruka shrinks back into the tub until only his eyes are above water. He catches Makoto staring at him openly, soft green orbs boring into his skin. Haruka pouts and turns his head to look at the bathroom wall.
The only sounds are the occasional splash when Haruka shifts in the tub, and the dull clattering of the dark-haired boy’s teeth, the chill of the now nearly-ice cold water finally taking effect.
“You should get out of there,” Makoto says gently, extending a hand to help his friend out of the tub. Haruka stares at it blankly before replying,
“I’ll stay here,” Makoto’s lips form a tight line, worry creasing his forehead and brow. He drops his extended arm and leans it against the edge of the tub, fingertips barely touching the tips of Haruka’s own pruned and purple fingers.
“Why’d you leave?” Makoto finally breaks, deciding bluntly asking is the best way to get any information from his friend.
Haruka stares. To any average onlooker, his expression would look as impassive as always, azure eyes flat and blank. To Makoto, the unofficial expert in the minuteness of Haruka’s expressions, the slight downturn of Haruka’s eyebrows and the flare of his nostrils did not go unnoticed. Haruka flicks his head away sharply, whipping water into Makoto’s eyes.
“I quit swimming. That’s all,”
“I get that. But why?” Makoto probes, wiping droplets of water from his face with his free arm. The arm resting on the edge of the tub remains planted, fingers itching to move even just the slightest bit forward. As if Haruka could sense Makoto’s movements, he pulls his arm suddenly beneath the water again, hugging his knees to his chest.
Makoto blinks and retreats his arm back slowly, taking in the expression plastered across his best friend’s face. It’s an expression Makoto has never seen before. Not the time Haruka’s goldfish had floated to the top the bowl when they were six- Makoto cried that time. Not at his Grandmother’s funeral when they were nine- Haruka’s father cried that time. Not even the time his father walked out, suitcase wheels clacking against the floor and out the door- Haruka’s mother cried that time.
“Haru-chan…” is all Makoto can say in response. He takes in Haruka’s glazed-over eyes, misting with tears that refuse to fall. The boy’s mouth parts slightly, as if to let out a plea for help. He doesn’t know how to ask. Eyebrows pull tighter together, and Makoto feels as if he’s the one who will start crying, as Haruka sits in the cold bathwater, looking more broken than any thirteen-year-old ever should.
“I thought I told you, stop adding “-chan” to my name,” is the only comment Makoto gets. The reminder lacks its usual bite, as if Haruka had stopped caring all together, and was simply trying to deflect the conversation away. The dark-haired boy turns his head away slowly, sinking to hide beneath the water again. Makoto watches as his friend sinks lower and lower, pulling his knees tighter into his chest. If he makes himself small enough, maybe he would disappear into the water all together.
Today is day filled with firsts.
Today is the first day Haruka will not swim.
Today is the first day Makoto does not know why.
Today is the first day Haruka cries
Today is the first day Makoto does not.
“Your parents home tonight?” Makoto splits a popsicle in two, handing Haruka the other half. The smaller boy takes it slowly, but doesn’t put it near his mouth. He lets the blue syrup slowly melt down the stick and onto his hand. This is how it usually goes. By the time the two friends are at the stairs to part ways, Makoto’s popsicle is gone, while Haruka’s is half melted, the other half dripping down his arm and onto the sidewalk. Makoto smiles weakly as the routine is continued. He tries every day anyways, hoping the outcome will be different than the day before.
“Dunno. Maybe. Maybe not,” Haruka raises the popsicle to his mouth, and Makoto stares intensely. He stops halfway through, as if realizing what he was doing, closes his mouth, and lowers his hand. He turns his head to the right, staring absently into the distance. Makoto follows his gaze and chuckles.
“You know, it’s starting to get hot again. Maybe we can go swim in the ocean,” Haruka flicks his head to look at Makoto, and the taller boy almost shouts in joy. Blue eyes twinkle back at him, looking more attentive than they have been in months.
“We can do that if you want!” Makoto exclaims, attempting to make the most out of a rare instance. “I just need to run home and get my swim suit!” He scratches the back of his head, letting out a chuckle. “It’s been a while since I’ve used mine, hopefully it still fits,” Makoto looks off in the direction of the beach. “Actually. It’s been a while since I’ve been to the ocean at all,”
“Makoto,” Haruka says suddenly, jolting the brunette out of his excitement. He doesn’t say anything else. He simply looks out at the ocean and then back at Makoto, the slight twinkle in his eye replaced with a stern expression. Makoto smiles back wearily.
“It’s okay,” Makoto reassures. You shouldn’t be worrying about me. You don’t have time for that. “It’ll be okay. After all, you’ll be there,” Haruka looks away, tousled bangs falling into his eyes.
“It doesn’t matter anyways. None of my swimsuits fit anymore,” Makoto tilts his head to the side, confused. It’s not like Haruka’s grown much at all in the last few months- if anyone had grown, it was Makoto. Every day, the taller boy’s attention was drawn to their growing size difference, Makoto shooting up like a rocket, while Haruka stayed close to the ground.
The smaller boy pulls his school jacket off, sweat starting to bead at the nape of his neck and forehead. Makoto’s attention was drawn to the spindly arms that emerged from the jacket sleeves. Much, or any of the muscle Haruka had managed to build while swimming in the past was gone, replaced by bony wrists and and limp arms. Without thought, Makoto reaches out and wraps his own hand around his friend’s wrist. To his horror, his thumb and forefinger overlap more than an inch. The two boys stop abruptly, the shorter of the two with a bewildered look on his face.
“Haruka,” His eyes widen at the usage of his full name. Haruka’s mouth presses into a
tight line and he raises the hand holding his popsicle to cover his face, hiding the slight flush that colors his cheeks.
Makoto’s expression is uncharacteristically rigid, bordering on actual anger. His usual gentle green orbs and perpetual smile are replaced by a deep frown and harshly upturned eyes.
“Sorry…” That catches Makoto off guard. He looks down at Haruka, hand still hovering above his mouth and nose. Makoto’s expression softens as quickly as the anger had appeared. He releases the grip on Haruka’s wrist, and the arm falls to the smaller boy’s side. Makoto notices how loose Haruka’s school uniform has gotten, the white button-up bunching at the shoulders and tuck. The popsicle continues to drip blue down Haruka’s arm and onto the pavement, half gonet and still uneaten.
“Why are you sorry?” Makoto asks, voice even and back to its usual gentle tone. Haruka looks up, expression vacant as usual, but blue-eyes glistening with an answer. While Haruka says nothing, Makoto nods and smiles faintly.
I’m sorry for not telling you. I’m sorry for making you worry. I’m sorry for this.
“Hey, come over for dinner tonight?”
---
Makoto laughs at dinner, like normal. Ran and Ren bicker over food and Haruka’s attention.
“Don’t fight,” Haruka says flatly. “Here, you can have some of mine,” The twins cheer as Haruka splits his tonkatsu in two and places a piece on each of their plates.
Makoto watches carefully, counting the number of times Haruka puts his chopsticks in his mouth, chews, and swallows.
The dinner is absolutely normal, until Makoto is clearing dishes and finds Haruka’s napkin filled with uneaten food.
---
Makoto isn’t sure what to say when he walks Haruka to the front door.
“You don’t have to walk me home. It’s just up the stairs,” Haruka reminds, as if Makoto didn’t know how close he lived.
“I know but…” Makoto looks down at the floor, searching for the right words to ask. “Dinner. Was the food not good?” Haruka flinches and turns away to face the exit, ashamed of being caught. Makoto is afraid his friend is just going to leave without an answer.
“...it was good,” Haruka manages, still facing away from the brunette. “But not as good as mackerel,”
Makoto laughs weakly, following Haruka out the door.
“You should come over more, you know,” Makoto presses, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Ran and Ren miss you. And you know my parents love you too. And I bet it gets lonely at home...since...well,” Makoto glances around the corner and looks up the staircase leading to Haruka’s house.
“I don’t want to be a bother,” Haruka says bluntly. Makoto opens his mouth to refute, but the smaller boy cuts him off. “See you tomorrow morning. Tell your parents I said thank you,”
Haruka walks away briskly, hiking up the stairs to his own house.
You’re never a bother. Don’t leave yourself all alone.
---
Haruka comes home to his door being slammed open, his father shoving past him and into the car.
“Wait! Dear, come back!” Haruka’s mother is leaning out of the house, calling after the car fading into the distance. She slams her hand against the doorframe, letting her head hang low. Haruka walks up to his mother and awkwardly places his hand on her shoulder.
“I’m home, mom,” he says, tone flat and even. His mother jolts up at her son’s sudden presence.
“O-oh. Haruka. You’re home,” She gives him a tired look, eyes puffy and lined with dark circles.
“Yeah. You should go back inside. I’ll make tea,” His mother nods once and turns around to head back inside the house. Haruka follows her in, closing the door quietly behind him.
“How was dinner? What did you eat?” Haruka’s mother asks conversationally.
“It was good, tonkatsu and curry over rice,” Haruka whips his hair out of his face as he pours two cups of green tea and sets them on the table. It’s the middle of May, far too late into the year to have a running kotatsu. But as his mother’s shoulders shake, Haruka wraps an extra blanket around his mother’s body and tucks her under the table. She wraps her hands around the hot tea glass, fingers trembling.
“How’s their family?” she asks, and Haruka thinks he hears a twinge of spite in his mother’s voice.
“The same as always,” he responds neutrally, not wanting to dig his mother’s wounds any deeper. The laughter that filled the Tachibana household echoes in the back of Haruka’s mind, a stark contrast to the silence or angry shouts that typically fill the Nanase house.
“Good for them…” Haruka’s mother casts a sidelong glance at nothing in particular, an expression that Haruka had inherited well.
Haruka stared at his mother, expression equally as passive as the woman in front of him. It was often said that Haruka resembled his mother greatly; they shared the same dark hair, contrastingly pale skin, and the same half-lidded stoic expression. It was Haruka’s eyes that lead to confusion and many whisperings between other parents- they were not his mother’s eyes, but they were not his father’s either.
“Your eyes are blue, because you are a child of the ocean, Haruka,” Haruka’s grandmother had said, leading Haruka across the sand of the beach. Water lapped at his feet, tickling his toes. “Don’t listen to what everyone else might be saying about you, alright? The ocean is the one with all the answers,”
It was at his grandmother’s funeral that Haruka stopped believing in the mystic tale of his unusually blue eyes. As he walked down the aisle to his grandmother’s casket, Haruka had to resist the urge to cover his ears with his hands as the whispers of his father’s family members echoed about the room. They blended together into hushed hissing, but Haruka managed to pick out a few phrases,
“He shouldn’t even be here,”
“They were close, grandmother and him,”
Haruka stepped onto the riser, looking down at his grandmother’s peaceful face. He half expected her to let out a snore, like she did when she fell asleep at the kotatsu watching tv dramas. Haruka knew better, though.
Didn’t she know? He’s not even really a part of this family,”
“ How dare his mother come.”
The whispering would never stop, and Grandma wasn’t there to shoo it all away.
“I’m taking a bath, mom,” Haruka lifts himself from the table, picking up the untouched tea mugs and teapot. He dumps the contents into the sink, the wasted tea leaves filtering down the drain. The garbage disposal groans to life, echoing through the silent house. Haruka is suddenly struck with the idea of sticking his hand into the drain, and his arm is half way in the sink before he catches himself. He wraps his opposite hand around his wrist and pulls his arm down to his side, watching as the tea leaves grind away into nothing.
“Don’t stay in too long,” The boy turns at the sound of his mother’s voice, weak and barely audible. “It’s a school night, and it’s already late,” Haruka is already walking away towards the bath, shirt pulled off over head.
“Yeah,” He says it in acknowledgement, but not in promise.
Haruka stays in the tub until the sun rises the following morning.
---
Haruka had learned in science class that sound travels faster through water. But he couldn’t stop himself from sinking deeper into the tub, the rush of liquid clogging his ears and drowning out the shouts coming from his living room. Eventually though, he has to surface to breathe.
“I don’t want him here!”
“What can I do?! Where can he go?”
“He was supposed to be out years ago!”
The silence is deafening, and Haruka ducks back under the water again, hoping to drown out anymore of the conversation. He makes out some incoherent mumbling that vaguely sounds like his parents’ voices until he runs out of air.
“I...One year. One more year. And then…”
“One year. And that’s it,”
Heavy footsteps stomp across the floorboards and up the stairs. Haruka hears a loud slam from the upper section of the house. He holds his hands out in front of him, holding up six fingers in front of his face. One finger for each year until he becomes ordinary.
Maybe then, things will stop changing.
Makoto remains hopeful. Nearly two years have passed, and Makoto thinks that things have returned to normal. Haruka stops showing up at his house in the middle of the night, driven away by his parent’s shouting. Makoto stops seeing the Nanase car driving off into the distance every other week. He thinks, maybe, things are okay again.
Or, perhaps, the realistic side of him says, everyone has simply gotten used to the fact that this-whatever this is- is the new normal.
Haruka hasn’t stepped foot into a body of water that wasn’t his tub since the day he quit the swim team. Makoto’s not even sure his friend owns a swimsuit anymore. Haruka’s elongated bath times become normal and expected, and the permanently cracked skin of the shorter boy’s hands is proof of that. Makoto now always carries lotion in his backpack, because the sight of Haruka’s dry and bleeding fingers is enough to bring tears to the brunette’s eyes.
Makoto is rubbing lotion into his friend’s hands as they venture home. The final quarter or middle school is drawing to a close, high school just on the distance. He wonders absently if Haruka would be willing to join the swim team again. The brunette smiles faintly to himself, attempting to remain hopeful about the possibility.
“Oi. Makoto,” Makoto is pulled out of his own thoughts and looks at his friend questioningly.
“You’re still holding my hand,” Makoto looks down, and sure enough, his hand is still wrapped tightly around Haruka’s, the golden tan of his skin contrasting darkly against his friend’s porcelain complexion.
“Ah! Sorry!” he fumbles, hastily rubbing the remainder of the lotion against his friend’s cracked fingers. Haruka looks off at the ocean and shrugs.
“It’s fine. I don’t mind,” The tightening of Haruka’s grip makes Makoto blink in surprise. He translates his friend’s statement and combined actions to mean Don’t let go.
Makoto chuckles to himself.
“Kind of reminds me of when we were kids. I remember, I always used to hold your hand on our way home from school, since I was scared I’d get lost otherwise,” Haruka hums in agreement, gaze still trained on the crashing of the ocean waves.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Makoto continues, filling their normal walk home with his familiar chatter. “We’ve been walking this path home from school every day since kindergarten. It’s been ten years, hasn’t it?” The two boys fall into step with one another, arms swaying back and forth between them. “And now, we’re graduating and going into high school. Have you decided where to go yet, Haru?”
“Wherever you go,” Haruka responds bluntly, as if the answer was obvious. Makoto chuckles again, tightening his grasp on Haruka’s hand.
“Yeah, I suppose that’s expected,” He notices that they’ve been walking significantly slower than usual, steps drawn out to prolong the journey home. Haruka’s always been the one to take lead of their pace. It isn’t like the boy to delay going home, especially since his routine for after school consisted of three-hour long bath, dinner, and another three-hour long bath.
“Haru? Shouldn’t we hurry up? We’re not even half way home yet,”
“...I suppose,” The hesitation in the shorter boy’s voice makes Makoto’s brow crease.
“Makoto,”
“Yeah?”
Haruka pauses, blue eyes darting back and forth, looking the words to say.
“I...might come over tonight. If that’s okay, I mean,” Makoto gives his friend a confused look.
“Of course it’s okay, you know that. But, why ‘might’?” Haruka’s chest deflates, his body relaxing as the tension slips from his shoulders.
“It just depends,” He says cryptically. Makoto wants to press further, but when Haruka pulls his hand tighter and walks just the slightest bit closer, he forgets what he wants to ask.
“Thanks,” Haruka whispers so quietly, any ordinary person wouldn’t have heard. But Makoto is not ordinary. The brunette smiles, shyly rubbing gentle circles into Haruka’s hand with the tip of his thumb.
“Of course,”
Usually, they would part ways at the foot of the staircase. But when Makoto tries to pull away, it’s Haruka that pulls him back.
“Haru? Something bothering you?” Haruka shrugs impassively, but his grip on Makoto’s hand doesn’t loosen. He looks up at his house on the top of the stairs and back down at the ground again.
“Hey. Remember, come over tonight. If that’s okay, I mean,” Haruka rolls his eyes at Makoto’s imitation of him, but finally releases his friend’s hand. He hikes up the staircase and is nearly at the top when he glances back down. Makoto is still standing at the bottom, looking up at him with that same, gentle smile. The brunette holds up a hand and waves, as if to say,
It’s okay. I’m still here.
---
Bags and boxes are lined up at the front of Haruka’s house, car half-loaded with most of his parent’s personal belongings. The teen is both unsurprised and disappointed- he had hoped his parents, or at least his mother, would stay for his middle school graduation. Haruka’s last sliver of hope escapes him as his father- no, his mother’s husband- shoves past him without a word, arms full with moving boxes.
Light footfalls draw Haruka’s attention to the stairs of the house, a pair of pale legs descending slowly, prolonging the inevitable goodbye. Flipping his hair in front of his face, the teen drags his feet into the house, toeing off his shoes as if today were any normal day.
“I’m home,” he calls flatly, ignoring the sharp pang in his chest as he realizes this will be the last time he will say “I’m home,” to anyone.
Haruka doesn’t know when he is grabbed, pulled in so tightly he cannot feel his own chest swell and constrict. Familiar arms cross tightly against his back, fists balled into the fabric of his school uniform. The smell of his mother’s shampoo and perfume fills his nose, and Haruka does everything he can to remember how this feels- to be held, to be loved, and to be left behind and forgotten. Slowly, the teen lifts his arms and wraps them hesitantly around his mother’s frail body.
“I’ll come back, I promise. I will. I’m sorry, Haruka. I-I’m-” She tightens her grip on her son-her only son, the son she is not allowed to keep. Haruka feels his shoulder grow damp, his mother’s tears trickling down her face and onto his clothes.
“It’s okay,” is all he can say, even though the teen knows that no, nothing is okay.
“No, it isn’t,” his mother says, voicing his unspoken thoughts.
“Y-yeah,” The waver in his own voice catches Haruka off guard, and he pulls his hand over his mouth in shock. Fingers catch on something moist, and Haruka’s first thought is he didn’t dry his hair enough after getting out of the pool. As quickly as the thought comes, Haruka almost laughs out loud. And he wants to- he wants to double over, hold his arms over his stomach, and laugh. Laugh until the car in the driveway rolls away. Laugh until the empty house becomes something familiar. Laugh until everything is ordinary.
Instead, he presses his face into his mother’s neck and lets his tears fall as freely as he wishes he could be.
---
Haruka spends the entire weekend at the Tachibana house. When he is meant to be sleeping, he hears Makoto’s mother’s voice clipping through the halls, sharp and angry.
“How could you do this? How could you leave your own child? Over what?”
A garbled voice fills the silence faintly.
“Of course he’s here. No one was going to let him stay in that house alone. I can’t believe this. Why follow him? What good has he done for you?”
Haruka pulls his knees closer to his chest, curling up on the floor of Makoto’s room. He lifts his hands to his ears, silencing Makoto’s mother’s voice to an incoherent mumble.
The teen doesn’t hear the mattress springs creak behind him as Makoto rises from his bed and pads down onto the floor. When Haruka feels his sheets shift, he attempts to turn to locate the cause of the disturbance. His movement is halted by Makoto crawling beneath the covers and draping an arm over his waist.
“What are you doing?” Haruka tries to keep his voice flat and uninterested, but he can feel his cheeks flaming, silently thankful for the darkness and for the fact that he is facing away from Makoto.
His friend doesn’t answer, and instead pulls the smaller boy closer.
“The hell?” Haruka’s voice raises a fraction, but for some reason, he doesn’t struggle to move away.
“It’s okay. I’m still here,” Makoto’s breath is hot against the back of Haruka’s neck. A chill works its way up the dark-haired teen’s spine.
“What?” Haruka asks, suddenly aware he has no idea what Makoto had just said, distracted by the feeling of his friend’s words against his skin.
“I said, it’s okay. I’m still here,”
The short, five-word phrase runs over Haruka’s entire body, like spring rain washing down dirty streets and roads. Suddenly, Haruka feels completely and utterly open, like he had been stripped down bare- exposed and vulnerable. But Makoto’s voice echoes in his ears, repeating over and over like a mantra, cleansing away any restraints and fears.
It’s okay, I’m still here. It’s okay, I’m still here. It’s okay, I’m still here.
Haruka pulls his knees in even tighter and wraps his own arms around Makoto’s. The two friends lay side by side, not daring to speak while an entire story escapes unspoken into the night.
In the morning, Makoto is the one who folds the guest futon and cleans the used sheets. He holds Haruka’s pillow tightly to his chest before stripping the case off and tossing it into the wash, tear stains to be rinsed away, but never forgotten.
High school changes nothing, but also everything. With the immaculate luck of consistently being placed in the same class for the umpteenth time in a row, the two friends sit side by side in seats that mirrored their life in middle school- Haruka in the last seat in the last row, right by the window, and Makoto in the seat just to his right. And just like in middle school, Haruka would spend more time staring out the window and out at the ocean than at the blackboard.
The difference was, unlike in middle school where both Makoto and Haruka were left to their own business, Makoto had grown increasingly well-liked by his fellow students as the days went by.
“Tachibana!” someone unfamiliar calls, sliding into the seat in front of Makoto and twisting around to face him. “There’s a new movie out today- you know, demons and ghosts and creepy shit. Me and some of the other guys are going to see it, wanna come with?” Makoto smiles that same gentle smile that has somehow become appropriate for all occasions.
“A-ah. Sounds interesting…” Makoto turns to Haruka, looking for an out. “What do you think, Haru?” Haruka barely moves, slightly turning his head to stare impassively at the invitee.
“Not interested,” he says boredly, and returns to doodling absently in the margins of his school work. The boy sneers and leans in towards Makoto’s desk.
“What’s with that kid, anyways? You’re always with him, but all he does is look bored. C’mon, you should just come, it’ll be more fun if sadass of the year over there doesn’t join in,” He juts his chin out in Haruka’s direction. Makoto chuckles uncomfortably, scratching behind his ear with the end of his pencil.
“I-uh...Well…” The boy slams his fist down on Makoto’s desk, making the brunette jump in his seat.
“Ah, come on Tachibana! Lighten up! Have some fun for on-”
“He’s not interested, either,” Both Makoto and the boy look up, Makoto’s expression a combination of both surprise and relief, the boy looking positively astounded and peeved.
“He doesn’t want to see it,” Haruka stands from his seat, hooking his school bag over his shoulder and walking out of the classroom. Makoto scrambles to pack his things up, calling after his friend to wait up.
“‘Scuse you, asshole. I don’t think you get to make other people’s decisions for them!” Haruka had already turned the corner and out of earshot. “Psh, whatever. Look, Tachibana. I’m telling you, whatever that kid has on you, I can take care of it,” He jabs a thumb towards his chest. “So, you wanna catch the movie or not?” Makoto stands and gives an apologetic smile.
“I’ll talk to Haru, maybe we’ll see you there?”
“Uh. Okay. Sure,” the boy shrugs, watching as Makoto rushes out of the classroom. He calls out after him, hands cupped around his mouth. “But I’m telling you, lose the fucking freak!”
“Hey, Haru,” Haruka glances off to his side, peering at Makoto through his bangs. Makoto picks at his nails, trying not to make eye contact with his friend. Since his parents left, Haruka hasn’t once willingly left the house. Every morning, Makoto forcibly removes him from the bathtub to get him to school. To be honest, Makoto isn’t sure if Haruka has willingly done anything in the last few months. The brunette runs his hand through his hair. The prospect of having to subject himself to a horror movie almost puts the idea of his head altogether, but if it means getting Haruka somewhere that isn’t his bathtub...
“I..uh. I was just wondering. We don’t have anything to do today...maybe...we should go see that movie? The theatre’s just down this street,” Makoto points to a turn coming up on the road. Haruka rolls his eyes and turns away, not bothering to answer. He picks up his pace and the two friends fall out of step.
“I mean...it’s just. We haven’t really done anything at all lately...or ever…” Makoto rambles as he jogs lightly to catch up with Haruka. “I just thought that maybe it could be fu-”
“Do what you like,” Haruka says curtly. He brushes past the brunette, breaking into a pace that is almost fast enough to be considered running.
“I...but…I. I’d like it...if you came?” The phrase comes out as a question instead of a statement. There was no way Makoto would be going to movie by himself, for various reasons.
Haruka lets out a heavy sigh and drags his fingers through his hair in irritation.
“It’s pretty clear I’m not invited, so stop dragging me into things,” He turns around to face away from the brunette, waving a hand behind him as if to shoo Makoto away. “If you want to go, go. Don’t let me stop you,” Haruka stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks up the stairs to his house, not bothering to say good bye.
“Then why don’t we go see a movie on our own?!” Makoto yells from the bottom of the stairs, cupping his hand around his mouth to carry his words farther.
Haruka slams his door behind him in response. He tosses his bag to the floor, books and notebooks clattering out and fluttering open. The dark haired teen clicks his tongue in exasperation, bending down to clean the fallen school materials. His hand stops above his English notebook, open to the notes he had taken today. Lining the margins are sketches of gentle eyes and messy hair. The drawings are neat and confident, as if the artist had been drawing his subject for years. Dark, heavy lines make up the curves of the neck, connecting to broad shoulders accented with strong strokes of the pencil. The facial features of the subject look almost out of place against the heavy build, eyes and mouth drawn with light lines, giving the face a gentle and calm look. Together though, the strong shoulders and angelic face give the figure an air of security- safe and trustworthy.
Haruka rips the page of his notebook and drops it in the trash on his way to the bathroom, a scarlet flush coloring his cheeks. Whether it’s out anger or embarrassment, the teen is unsure. Etching your best friend’s likeness into your notes for a day was one thing, but Haruka only sinks lower into his bathtub knowing the sketches filled multiple pages of all his school notebooks. The teen whips his head sharply, splashing water across the bathroom floor.
Lose the fucking freak. Lose the fucking freak. Lose the fucking freak.
Haruka sinks himself as deep as the bathtub will allow.
I quit swimming. I quit swimming. I quit swimming.
His chest constrict, lungs struggling for breath.
I don’t want him here. I don’t want him here. I don’t want him here.
His mouth opens and inhales, water filling his throat and nose.
It’s okay, I’m still here. It’s okay, I’m still here. It’s okay, I’m still here.
Haruka resurfaces unwillingly, violently coughing up bathwater. His nostrils sting and his throat feels as though someone had scraped the inside raw. Water and saliva dribble down the teen’s chin, pooling at his collar bones and sliding down into the water. He hoists himself out of the bath onto shaky legs and wraps a towel tight around himself. He sits on the bath stool, staring out the small window just above the tub. He is still sitting, shivering and teeth clattering, well after the sun sets.
When Haruka isn’t in the tub the following morning, Makoto almost calls the police.
“Haru?!” the brunette shouts, voice reverberating against the walls. He climbs the stairs, hoping his friend had overslept.
The state of Haruka’s room is terrifying. Not because it is unkempt, like any ordinary teen boy’s room should be, but because it is so perfectly tidy, Makoto is certain something is wrong. He pads across the floor to the flawlessly made bed, sheets pristine and uncreased. They even smell of fresh laundry. Makoto smooths his hand against the bed, fabric cold beneath his fingers. The bed hadn’t been used last night- if ever at all. Makoto looks around. There are no clothes in the hamper, nothing on the desk, and nothing in the trashcan.
The room looks as if no one lived in it at all.
Makoto steps out of the room quietly, the door clicking behind him. He wonders hopefully that perhaps, Haruka had gone out to the ocean for a morning swim. The brunette is about to descend the stairs to check, when he notices the second bedroom door slightly ajar. Makoto realizes he has never actually ever seen the inside of what used to be Haruka’s parents’ room. He pushes the door open slowly, hinge creaking quietly in protest.
The room is completely dark, shades drawn tightly over the window. From the light filtering in from the hallway, Makoto is barely able to make out the slight figure bulging out from underneath the blankets. The brunette is glued in place- he knows if he doesn’t wake Haruka now, they’ll be late. But when he hears a nearly silent pained whimper, Makoto forgets. He tip-toes across to the bed, taking care in being quiet.
Haruka has the covers pulled well over his head, but Makoto can still make out the his friend’s shivering figure beneath the blankets. The brunette suddenly realizes, in all the years his best friend spent sleeping over at his house, he had never seen Haruka have a nightmare. And yet here Haruka is- curled up in his parent’s bed, sounds of complete distress and pain muffled by the sheets pulled tightly around his face.
Makoto’s eyes dart from right to left, desperately trying to remember what his mother had done for him when he had nightmares as a child. He raises his hand hesitantly and places it on what Makoto assumes to be Haruka’s shoulder. He feels the tremors of Haruka’s body through the blankets, arms tense. Makoto rubs circles into the sheet, which somehow feels like the right thing to do.
Instead, it startles the smaller teen awake, Haruka jolting into consciousness with a scream caught in the back of his throat. Makoto takes two steps back, eyes travelling over Haruka’s face. The usual half-lidded stare and pursed lips are gone, replaced with wide-blue eyes and a mouth contorted into a half-open grimace. Haruka’s piercing stare finds Makoto in the darkness, and the pleading, helpless look the smaller teen gives his friend is enough to make Makoto freeze. It isn’t the first time he’s seen this look in those azure orbs. The first time he had seen it, Makoto had not known how to put it to words. The emotion was so foreign, it hleft Makoto confused and even a little bit frightened. But now, as Haruka stares at him with an unspoken scream for help clouding his eyes, Makoto wonders- how long has his friend, the best friend that had been by his side since he can ever remember, how long has he been this broken? Makoto grits his teeth and asks himself, How long have I been standing next to him, not noticing how far gone he actually is?
“...Leave,”
What?
Makoto focuses back onto his friend’s face. The helpless expression from mere seconds before contorts into yet another frighteningly foreign emotion. The creases between Haruka’s brows are so deep, it looks as if they have been cut out with a blade. Blue eyes tremble in anger- no, Makoto thinks. Tremble in fear.
The impassiveness front Makoto has gotten so used to shatters into millions of tiny pieces, like a glass bottle tossed angrily onto the sidewalk. He watches as every fiber of Haruka’s being snaps in half, like threads giving way after being pulled far too tight.
“Haru-chan…”
“Don’t call me that!” Haruka spits, and Makoto takes another step back towards the door. “It’s been years, and you still fucking say it. Don’t you ever learn?!” Haruka sits up to kneel on the bed, hair disheveled and voice ragged. He hangs his head low, arms falling listlessly to his sides. “You never fucking learn…” He swings his legs over the side of the bed, wobbling slightly. Makoto almost rushes forward to steady him, but Haruka snaps his head up and glares.
“I’m fine,” Makoto’s attention is drawn to how slight Haruka’s figure has gotten- he is drowning in the fabric of his shirt, neckline dipping off to one side, revealing protruding collar bones and narrow shoulders. Wait. Was that his shirt?
Haruka steps forward, backing Makoto up against the bedroom wall.
“Everyone else learned. Everyone else is gone and yet you,” Haruka jabs a finger into Makoto’s chest. “You’re still here,” He shakes his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. “You’re an idiot, Makoto,” Haruka drops his hand and turns around.
“Haru, I-”
“Leave,”
“But-”
“Leave,”
He doesn’t turn around, but Haruka hears Makoto’s hesitant footsteps dragging across the bedroom floor to the exit. The door clicks, and Haruka is alone.
Leave. Leave. Leave.
Leave and you’ll be better off without me.
Water is supposed to cleanse. Is what Haruka had believed up until this point- water could wash away any filth. But the teen felt permanently stained- no matter how hard he scrubs, and no matter how long he sits in the water, Haruka only feels filthier by the minute.
He rests his head against the back of the tub and shuts his eyes. The bath water is freezing. Haruka’s unsure how how long he’s been sitting here. Last he remembered, he had stepped into the water shortly after Makoto had left this morning. The sun had set long, long ago, and the sky was beginning to tint orange, the new day approaching.
Haruka wiggles his toes, making sure they are still there. Feeling is faint, but yes, his toes are still there. He wriggles his fingers, and they crack in protest, joints cold and aching from being submerged for far too long.
He is sure his lips are far beyond blue. Closer to black, he thinks. His head rolls off to the side, slouching further and further into the tub.
School starts soon, he is sure. There’s still homework to be done, he knows.
Sleeping in the tub is dangerous, he remembers.
His head slips beneath the water level, hair fanning out at the surface.
It’s not like it matters anymore, anyways.
Maybe this way, I can finally be Free.
Free. Free. Free.
Today is a day filled with firsts.
Today is the first day Makoto hesitates at Haruka’s door.
Today is the first day Makoto feels he is not welcome.
Today is the first day Makoto considers going to school alone.
Today is the first day Makoto does not listen to Haruka.
Makoto knocks, and when nobody answers, he is unsurprised. He mostly knocks out of habit, but as he crosses the front of the house to the side door, he wonders why he even bothers trying.
The side door gives way and creaks open angrily, as if telling Makoto to leave before he
gets a chance to even step inside. Makoto toes off his shoes and haphazardly leaves them by the door.
“I’m coming in!” he calls, as if today were like any normal day. He makes the familiar trek to the bathroom- 15 steps in total from the side door. Makoto knocks on the sliding door, again, mostly out of habit, not out of courtesy.
Makoto is suddenly hyper aware of the utter silence that fills Haruka’s house. Usually, he could at least hear splashing from the other side of the bathroom door. Typically, the stove fan was also running, dispelling of the smell of Haruka’s breakfast of grilled fish from earlier in the morning. But today, the house is dark and dead silent. A sense of unease crawls its way up Makoto’s spine, and the brunette places a hand over his chest to steady his breathing. He removes his socks and rolls the hems of his pants up.
“Haru? I’m coming in,” When there is no response, Makoto is not surprised. He pushes the sliding door open and steps into the familiar bathroom.
A generous amount of water coats the floor surrounding the tub, as if a large splash had disturbed the bath. Makoto hears the faint sound of the tub draining, but Haruka isn’t anywhere to be seen. Makoto almost steps out of the bathroom, thinking that Haruka must be upstairs changing for the day. There is a faint trickle coming from the tub spout; Makoto lets out an amused sigh, and pads over to the tub to turn the water off.
A scream pierces through the silent house, loud enough to disturb a murder of crows perching on the power lines outside. The flapping of wings and incessant cawing echoes in Makoto’s ears as he stares down at Haruka’s body laying limp in the bathtub.
Flashes of violent waves crash down into Makoto’s mind, dragging down a ship as if it were a bath toy. A river sweeps away a boy’s body like a ragdoll, limbs smashing into pointed rocks at the base.
A violent sob tears through Makoto’s entire being, and it takes him one second too long to register my best friend might die and it’s probably my fault.
Makoto hauls Haruka’s unconscious body out of the tub and messily wraps a towel around him for warmth. The smaller teen’s lips, fingers, and toes are so dark they are nearly black, like the wings of the crows circling the house overhead.
Tossing Haruka over his shoulder, Makoto ascends the staircase and nearly throws his friend onto the floor. He pulls the towel off and presses his ear to Haruka’s chest. He openly sobs at the faintest sound of a heartbeat, struggling to work. Makoto lifts his head and holds his hand over Haruka’s mouth and nose. The breaths are short and shallow, practically unnoticeable.
“Haru! H-haru! C’mon...wake up,” Makoto shakes the boy violently. Eyes remain shut, and Makoto is ready to break in half.
One last thing occurs to Makoto. Tilting Haruka’s chin straight and pulling his mouth open, the brunette leans down and presses his mouth against cold, lifeless lips. He breathes out, tears streaming down his face and falling onto Haruka’s cheeks.
Makoto straightens up and places a balled fist against Haruka’s chest.
It’s okay. I’m still here.
One.
It’s okay, I’m still here.
Two
It’s okay I’m still here
Three.
“Haruka!”
A loud hack tears through the bedroom as Haruka coughs water out onto the bedroom floor. His eyes squeeze tight before fluttering open.
Strong, familiar arms drape over his body, a broad chest pressed flush against his.
Haruka is brought back down to earth as loud, violent sobbing rings in his ears.
“M-makoto,” Haruka’s voice is completely shot, croaking out raw against his abused throat. He coughs again, more water spraying out onto Makoto’s shoulder. If Makoto minds it didn’t show, as he pulls Haruka up into a seated position, pressing the smaller boy tightly against his own body.
“Why?” The one-word question is loaded with so many others. Why did you stop swimming? Why did you fall so far down? Why did you never tell me? Why didn’t you say anything? Why did it come to this? Why wasn’t I there to stop it?
“Because. Everyone’s gone,” Haruka mumbles into Makoto’s shoulder, burying his face into the fabric. “Everyone’s gone because of me,”
Makoto continues to sob, drenching Haruka’s already-damp face in salty tears.
“I-it’s okay. I’m still here,” There it is again. Haruka’s body tenses under that same short phrase that somehow means absolutely everything. “I’m always here,”
The two friends do not go to school today. Instead, they lay side by side in Haruka’s bed, bundled in the blankets. Sun gleams in from the window, casting a warm glow over both of their heads. Legs tangle together and fingers interlace secretly beneath the blankets. Hair tickles bare skin and lips brush as they push and pull apart.
Today is a day of lasts.
Today is the last day Haruka hides.
Today is the last day Makoto needs to pry.
Today is the last day Haruka feels alone.
Today is the last day Makoto needs to remind him he isn’t.
The summer heat is brutal. Haruka wipes sweat away from his forehead, loosening his tie and tugging at his collar.
“Haru, here,” The shorter boy looks up and finds half a blue popsicle being offered to him, Makoto smiling down at him gently.
“...Thanks,” He regards the popsicle carefully and shrugs. He closes his eyes and wraps his lips around the frozen dessert.
It takes an inhuman amount of strength for Makoto to hold be a shout of joy and accomplishment. Instead, an incredibly goofy smile plasters itself on his face. Haruka finds it kind of irritating, honestly. He licks at his popsicle again.
“That face your making is ridiculous. What’s up?” Taking his cue, Makoto thrusts out a poorly-wrapped present into Haruka’s face.
“Happy Birthday, Haru-chan!” Haruka flinches back, covering his ear with his hand.
“What?” Makoto laughs, that same gentle laugh that is fit for every occasion.
“Don’t tell me you forgot your own birthday,”
Haruka digs his phone out of his pocket- Makoto had made him get one- and checks the date. June 30th.
“Oh,” is all Haruka has to say. He shrugs and puts his phone back into his pocket. “One year closer to being ordinary,” He reaches out and takes the present in his empty hand. “Thanks. You didn’t have to get me anything,” Makoto laughs lightly and pulls out his key to Haruka’s house- another thing Makoto had made Haruka get for him.
Haruka finishes off his popsicle and tosses the stick into the trash can.
“Well, go ahead, open it up!” Makoto looks far too excited, and Haruka can’t help but be suspicious. The package is light and thin, probably some article of clothing. Carefully, he makes a small tear in the wrapping paper and pulls out the content.
Haruka’s eyes widen at the familiar slick texture of the fabric in his hand.
“Makoto, I-”
“You said your swimsuits didn’t fit anymore, so,” Makoto scratches the back of his head, a light flush coloring his cheeks. “They didn’t have any blue ones in your size, so I got purple, so I hope you don’t m-”
“I love it,” Haruka responds bluntly. “I’ll try it on now,” Makoto’s face lights up, like he were the one who had received the present.
“We can go swim in the ocean, if you want! I just need to head home to get mine!” The corners of Haruka’s lips tug up.
“Yeah. Alright. Come back here when you’re ready,” Haruka ascends the staircase and disappears into his bedroom.
Makoto is nearly out the door when he catches sight of a single paper in the wastebin. It looks like Haruka’s notes from English last week. He needs these, these are for the midterm review. Makoto reaches down and smooths the paper out, intending to leave it on the living room table. Upon unfolding the paper, Makoto is greeted with gentle smiles and soft eyes. He sees himself, drawn with precision, care, and immaculate detail. From the crinkles in the corners of his eyes when he laughs, to the lopsided pull of his lips when he smiles, Haruka has captured Makoto in utter perfection. The effortlessness of the lines, the gentleness of the strokes, Haruka’s sketches say more than any words or actions ever could.
You are beautiful. You are perfect. This is how I see you.
Makoto folds the paper carefully and slips it into his back pocket.
Maybe now, things can finally become ordinary.