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He watched Haru pick at his dinner that night; couldn’t help but notice he was even more impervious to Nagisa and Rei’s antics than usual. Closed off and cold like a wall of ice so Makoto feared he was cracking underneath.
His eyes hardly even wandered from his plate, even when the others made valiant attempts to include him in the conversation, anything to dampen the sounds of a fist crashing into metal that still echoed in their ears.
Makoto didn’t push it though, just made a single comment about Haru not finishing his mackerel, smiling warm and maybe a little too expectant whenever he did manage to draw Haru’s stoic gaze. And he only followed with concerned eyes, when Haru finally excused himself to go back to their room.
Even so, he could only stay there for a little while, worry tying itself into a knot in his gut and tugging at him to leave. He forced himself to chuckle at Nagisa, as the blond showed off chopstick-aided impressions of different animals for Rei to impatiently guess. He waited as long as he thought it would take to keep it from being obvious, that he was running after Haru, that he was wracked with guilt about having fun when his best friend was so frightfully in despair. But his two teammates still gave him a knowing look when he announced he was turning in, dutifully reminding them not to stay up too late before hurrying out of the restaurant in the direction of the hotel.
Haru didn’t as much as move when Makoto came in, just lay there curled on his side with his back turned towards the door. Didn’t respond when Makoto greeted him cheerily, still trying to act like nothing was wrong even as he watched Haru carefully to make sure he was still breathing. He stood there in the middle of the hotel room for a long time, contemplating, watching the fabric of Haru’s windbreaker slowly rise and fall, the collar pulled high over his neck as if to hide him fully from the world. He stood there until the silence was incrementally replaced by the anxious pounding of his heart.
Haru didn’t move when the bed dipped either, didn’t react at all when the larger boy cuddled up to his back with barely an inch between them, enough to feel Haru’s warmth against his skin and make the windbreaker rustle. Not until Makoto’s arm wrapped around his middle did he finally gasp and tense up, and Makoto wondered if perhaps he’d been asleep.
“Sorry,” Makoto said quickly, pulling his arm away so it hovered over Haru’s torso. “If you want to be left alone, I’ll--”
“Don’t,” was all Haru said, very much awake as he caught Makoto’s wrist suddenly and held it firmly in place. He twisted underneath it so they were facing before setting it back down, shifting closer so he could bury his face in Makoto’s shirt, fingers clutching at the fabric until it was digging into Makoto’s skin.
Makoto startled, frozen as he stared with wide eyes at Haru clinging to him for dear life. Every muscle in Haru’s body was rigid; Makoto could feel his fist trembling against his chest. In the silence, Haru suddenly made some desperate noise, half-gasp, half-sob, and it wasn’t until then that Makoto realized he was crying.
“Haru!” he breathed, heart breaking with it as he instantly relaxed and pulled Haru closer, one hand softly petting his hair as his other arm snaked tighter around his waist. But that only seemed to make Haru tense up even more, crying harder but not louder, his body shaking with a more intense, raging sort of silence. Makoto shushed him gently as Haru took in sharp, sniffling gasps of breath, as if he could still somehow pretend he wasn’t crying at all.
“It’s okay,” Makoto whispered into his hair, hand gently gliding over Haru’s back. His mind reeling from the fact this was actually happening, he fought to keep his mind focused on just what the heck he supposed to say. “It’s okay not to know what you want yet,” he tried.
One of Haru’s arms made its way around his waist to hold onto him tighter, an almost suffocating grasp, which Makoto allowed until Haru finally calmed enough to speak.
“I only know... I want you.”
Makoto’s heart did a very complicated flip and dive inside his chest. He pulled his head back and tilted down at an awkward angle, to look into the cool, deep, glistening pools of Haru’s eyes.
“Haru,” was all he could manage in response. But it seemed that the other boy didn’t really need him to say anything else, wearily but contently closing his eyes and pressing his forehead to Makoto’s chest.
When he finally remembered how to breathe, Makoto bent his head down again, hesitant and unsure, knowing that what he did next could change their friendship forever. He inched forward until his lips brushed against Haru’s skin, fighting to keep his breathing steady as he slowly closed them into a kiss. Pressing it intensely against Haru’s brow, as if he could say everything that needed to be said with that one, solemn motion.
But nothing really felt world-shatteringly different, even if Haru’s grip on his shirt seemed to loosen, his pained breathing noticeably evening out as Makoto nuzzled into his hair. He rested his chin against the top of Haru’s head, letting out a relaxing sigh and wishing for Haru to do the same.
For the moment at least, it would seem that nothing had changed.
Makoto tried to convince himself that was a good thing.