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Sometimes there’s cheering around them – raucous when at nationals, dwindling as you dip down into regional’s, and then sectionals – and sometimes there’s nothing but Rei and Nagisa’s chatter in the background, or the splash of water beside them as one of their friends dives into their lane. The scene changes, morphs, and every time Haru finishes his laps there’s a different view to his every breach of the water’s surface. There’s no constant. No scenery ever repeats itself, and no setting is ever duplicated exactly. But despite the morphing and shifting and changing of their surroundings, there’s one thing that always, always remains the same.
Haru gasps, head bursting from the water as he reaches up, pulling his goggles down from around his eyes and letting them hang from his neck. One hand then pulls the swim cap from his head, shaking his head as his hair spills free from its restraint. Haru’s eyes are closed as water drips down his face, before slowly he opens them, feeling a small breeze as something warm is placed before his face.
“Haru.” Blue eyes lift their gaze, trailing up the tanned skin of a calloused hand before locking with a soft, green view. A gentle smile is pulling at Makoto’s lips, and Haru repeats the actions he had practically memorised by now.
He closes his eyes again, looks down and away and takes Makoto’s hand in his own, the familiar slapping of wet skin against dry echoing in his ears like a favourite bedtime story, warmth seeping through his nerves at the tingling contact between him and the other boy. He’s pull from the pull, body dripping against the tiles as he stands to his full height. And once again, he looks at Makoto, the other’s presence so strong and so warm before him.
Yes, despite the morphing and shifting and changing of their surroundings, there’s one thing that always, always remains the same.
Makoto will always be waiting at the end of the pool for him.
They make idle chatter as they head towards the changing rooms. Or actually, Makoto talks at Haru most of the time, the other not really saying much as he takes the towel the taller boy is offering to him and begins to dry off his hair as best he could. Rei and Nagisa are already changed and waiting for them by the school gates, the sun setting along the horizon as their after school training session comes to an end. Conversation is light and airy between the four of them up until the point where the younger of their group split off to get the train, leaving the rest of journey solely to Makoto and Haru, their footsteps echoing up from the concrete of the pavement.
“Goodnight, Haru.” Makoto says as Haru opens his own front door, pausing and waiting for a moment before glancing over his shoulder, giving a small nod.
“Goodnight, Makoto.”
The smile he receives is the same one that greets him at the end of every lap, every bath time, every competition. Haru’s heart thumps once, the sound so loud he’s surprised Makoto didn’t hear it. Slowly, Haru turns away from the smile, and his front door closes.
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The first time Makoto holds his hand – and Haru means actually holds his hand – it’s a sign that what was happening wasn’t a dream. Makoto’s smile is so bright, and so happy, and Haru can feel his own smile twitching up to match it, nerves alight with the same emotion that coursed through him whenever his skin would come into contact with his friends. Or, they weren’t friends anymore, were they? No, they were more – much more. Fingers laced themselves between Haru’s, and the swimmer looked down at the interlocked limbs, blue eyes wide in what seemed like awe.
“We’re holding hands.” He said dumbly, his voice as flat as ever. Makoto just laughed, the impassive tone having no effect on him anymore. He was able to read Haru’s expressions clearly now – gauge everything he needed through body language, and body language alone.
“Yes, we are.” The boy confirmed, giving a quick squeeze to Haru’s hand as if to prove his point. “Do you not like it?” Haru shook his head in reply, a light tinge to his cheeks, but nothing to outstanding.
“No, it’s just...”
“Different?” Makoto finished his sentence, and Haru shook his head once again.
“Familiar.” He corrected. “I like it.”
Another laugh bubbled from Makoto’s lips, and Haru decided that even compared against the sound of rushing water against his ears as he swam, Makoto’s laugh may just be his favourite sound.
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It was about a month later when Haru decided what his least favourite sound was.
Heart monitors.
The repetitive sound had him on edge, fidgeting in his chair as he listened to the steady beep, beep, beep. It seemed too invasive, playing the sound of a heart as if it were a musical piece. A heartbeat was a thing to be felt, and heard only in intimate moments. It was not meant to be displayed across a ward like number one in the charts.
There was a warm hand held in Haru’s, but it didn’t hold back. It was limp, the tingles the feeling of their skin meeting not sending the same tingles it usually did. Haru didn’t like that, either – he may have hated it even more than that stupid beeping. Even closing his eyes didn’t drown out the sound, and even squeezing Makoto’s hand didn’t distract him from the fact that Makoto wasn’t squeezing back.
Beep, beep, beep.
He hated it.
Beep, beep, beep.
He wanted it gone.
Beep, beep, beep.
He wanted Makoto to wake up.
Beep, beep, beep.
He wanted Makoto to hold his hand.
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He won.
Haru gasps, head bursting from the water as he reaches up, pulling his goggles down from around his eyes and letting them hang from his neck. One hand then pulls the swim cap from his head, shaking his head as his hair spills free from its restraint. Haru’s eyes are closed as water drips down his face, before slowly he opens them, feeling a small breeze as something warm is placed before his face.
“Haru.” Blue eyes lift their gaze, trailing up the tanned skin of a calloused hand before locking with a soft, green view. A gentle smile is pulling at Makoto’s lips, and Haru repeats the actions he had practically memorised by now.
He closes his eyes again, looks down and away and takes Makoto’s hand in his own – only there’s no familiar slapping of wet skin against dry echoing in his ears like a favourite bedtime story. There’s no warmth seeping through his nerves at the tingling contact between him and the other boy. In fact, there’s no contact at all, and Haru’s eyes open slowly, looking up to where Makoto had just been only to see nothing. Blue eyes are wide, hand frozen in the air, unaware of the concerned gaze he’s receiving from his childhood friend just a lane over.
There’s no green, no tan, no hand.
There’s no Makoto.
Sometimes there’s cheering around them – raucous when at nationals, dwindling as you dip down into regional’s, and then sectionals – and sometimes there’s nothing but Rei and Nagisa’s chatter in the background, or the splash of water beside them as one of their friends dives into their lane. The scene changes, morphs, and every time Haru finishes his laps there’s a different view to his every breach of the water’s surface. There’s no constant. No scenery ever repeats itself, and no setting is ever duplicated exactly. Their surroundings are always morphing, shifting, changing.
And there’s not one thing that always, always remains the same.