Work Text:
“But to me, it's a whole
lot more important to find something that makes you unafraid of
being alone, rather than to have so many friends that you wind up
being terrified of solitude.”
― Mitsuyo Kakuta, Woman on the Other Shore
***
Rin leans his forehead into Haruka’s bedroom door.
“Haru,” he says, “I know you can hear me.”
As if determined to prove him wrong, Haruka remains stubbornly silent. The quiet is so thick it is almost deafening. Rin can hear the drip-drip of the faucet in the kitchen downstairs, but there isn’t even the creak of bedsprings from inside the room, a heavy, suffocating stillness that makes Rin want to turn around and walk away, or, and this second option is more tempting, kick the door down and demand to be heard. But that would be a stupid, destructive move. Rin thinks about the look on Makoto’s face: the barely-repressed tears, the quivering line of his mouth.
“He won’t talk to me,” Makoto had said, looking the most unsettled Rin had ever seen him – even more unsettled than the time Haruka almost drowned, in grade school.
Rin sighs. “Listen – I know you’re upset.” He grimaces internally. Upset is a gross understatement, but, as usual, words won’t come when Rin needs them most. “You’re – you’re tired, and frustrated, and feel like you’re being caged in.”
Like I did, last year, he wants to add. I know exactly what you feel like. But he also knows that being told that – that he’s being understood – is almost as frustrating, because there is a part of him that doesn’t want to be understood – that wants to wallow in self-pity, the way Haruka is now –
- and so, instead, Rin takes a deep breath and summons whatever patience he has left over after dealing with Momotarou and Aichiro and (to a lesser extent) Sousuke.
I am a saint, Rin thinks. I deserve a medal.
“And look – I’ve already bought tickets. Business class, and I’m not made of money. I’m going to be paying off the loan well into spring.” Never mind he only bought one of the tickets. He wonders how far he can push it. “If you don’t come you’ll end up costing me for nothing. What’ll I do with the extra pass, huh? Take a goldfish with me? – or, you know,” maybe switching tactics will help, “I could always ask Sousuke. I’m sure he won’t turn me down – ”
The door is pulled open, the sudden lack of resistance making Rin stumble forward. He catches the edge of the frame to keep from falling forward. Haruka looks, if it is possible, even worse than he did when he opened the front door: wan and pale, with deep dark shadows circling his eyes. He has bitten through his lip.
“How,” he says, hisses, almost, “can I get you to shut the fuck up?”
Rin takes a moment to process the obscenity. It sounds so out of place, coming from Haruka’s (pretty, red) mouth. There is a smear of blood at the corner of his bottom lip. Rin forces his gaze upward.
“Come with me,” he says, and is proud his voice does not shake, “and I’ll shut up. You don’t even have to pack. Just – go to the bathroom, wash your face. I’ll get your stuff; I have space in my bag.”
He is standing so close he can hear the hitch in Haruka’s breath that means he’s been crying. Haruka’s eyes are wide and flat, like the sparkle has gone out of them. He regards Rin with drawn-together eyebrows. His shoulders are trembling.
“Please?” Rin breathes. “Please, Haru?”
He won’t talk to me, Makoto’s words repeat themselves in Rin’s head, increasingly more panicked with each repetition. Rin keeps a cautionary hand on the door frame, just in case Haruka decides to slam the door shut in his face again.
Haruka’s shoulders slump. Rin can see the fight leave him, leaving exhaustion in its wake. He pushes half-heartedly past Rin, walking down the corridor towards the bathroom.
Now that he is no longer in the way, Rin can see the mess the bedroom is in: clothes all over the floor, closet doors thrown open, blinds crooked. The whole picture is so uncharacteristic of Haruka Rin almost backtracks out of the room: but then, everything Haruka has done lately has been uncharacteristic: like the shouting, and the hostility:
Like a rubber band stretched beyond breaking point, Rin thinks. After a certain point there is nothing left to do but snap. And to think, Rin shakes his head at himself, rummaging through the remainder of Haruka’s closet for clean clothes, I was jealous of his support system.
He picks out heavier clothes: long-sleeved shirts, cardigans, trousers instead of shorts. It is July, and, while Sydney is never freezing, it will definitely be too cold for t-shirts.
Rin is zipping up his duffel bag when Haruka reappears, face scrubbed clean and hair tamed. He looks calmer, Rin notes critically, but his bottom lip has begun to swell up. He stands – a little self-consciously - in the middle of the room, hands curled at his sides.
“Do you have a valid passport?” Rin asks, and internally crosses his fingers.
Haruka nods, once.
“Oh,” Rin says, unable to keep the surprise from his voice, “you do?”
“I went to Taiwan with my parents two years ago,” Haruka says. His voice is a little less listless.
Rin stands up, lifting the duffel onto his shoulder. “Great,” he says, “alright, then, c’mon, let’s go.”
***
First, there is a six-and-a-half hour bus ride from Tottori to Narita. Rin ushers Haruka into the window seat, sits down next to him, and pulls out the paperback copy of Kakuta Mitsuyo’s Woman on the Other Shore that is his reading assignment. It belongs to Gou, and has been read countless times; the margins are filled with her scribbles and the pages are dog-eared.
He can feel Haruka’s presence in the heat at his side, and the barely perceptible tremble at his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, Rin sees Haruka fold and unfold his hands in his lap. Fifteen minutes later, he has relaxed enough to set his head against the window, eyes lidded so that his lashes are hovering just above his cheeks.
Go to sleep, Rin wills him. You look like you need it.
By the time they arrive at the airport, it is one in the afternoon. Rin puts his book away, and shakes Haruka awake.
There are two hours till their flight. Their only luggage is Rin’s laptop bag and the duffel, which is within cabin baggage specifications. After going through customs, Rin guides Haruka to one of the little cafes by the boarding gate, where Rin has coffee and noodles.
Haruka has a sandwich. There is no mackerel, so he settles for tuna.
***
Rin and Haruka arrive in Sydney a little before midnight, local time. Outside the airport, there is a brisk, cold wind – seven degrees Celsius, according to Rin’s cellphone. He pulls his jacket hood over his head and curses himself for not having a scarf or gloves.
Haruka stumbles over the curb, eyes out of focus. Rin reaches out to steady him, sliding his arm into the crook of Haruka’s elbow. With his free hand, Rin flags down a taxi. The taxi fare to the Sydney Harbour Marriott, where Coach Brown has reserved a room for Rin, is exorbitant, but Rin cannot bring himself to care; it is late and he is tired.
He sends Coach Brown a quick I’m here and settles in the taxi’s backseat.
The cushions are hard and uncomfortable behind Rin’s back. The strong smell of tobacco smoke pervades the air. Aside from the intermittent pale gold glow from the streetlights dappling across their faces, the interior of the taxi is dark and quiet. Rin can hear the sound of Haruka’s breathing, and feel his heart beating in his ears.
Oh God, Rin’s brain says, catching up with the situation, slow as always, I’m here, I’m here in Sydney fuck I’m back Haru’s here Haru’s with me fuck fuck –
“My friend told me,” Rin says when the silence gets too much to bear, “that the hotel he’s put us – well, me – I haven’t told him you’re here yet – has very nice views over the harbor.”
A pause, lasting several heartbeats.
“Okay,” Haruka says.
“Oh, and, you can see the Opera House, too – you know the Opera House, right, Haru?”
“I’m not an idiot, Rin,” Haruka says, and at the faint amused condescension in his tone Rin feels himself relax.
In the darkness, Haruka’s hand is a pale ghostly white against the blue of his jeans, the fingers flexed, slightly, at the middle joints. Maybe it is because Rin is tired, or because Haruka did not protest when Rin took his arm, or because, suddenly, Rin wants to stop holding back and make a move because hey Haru’s here he came he didn’t say no –
- so he closes his hand over Haruka’s and interlaces their fingers, palms flush together, and holds his breath (and waits for Haruka to pull away) – Haruka stills, at first, and then Rin feels him slacken and he drops his head onto Rin’s shoulder.
“Of course you aren’t,” Rin says, hushed.
***
There is a single, queen-sized bed in the hotel room.
I must be in a shoujo manga, Rin thinks, and tries not to think about it any further. It is almost two in the morning and all Rin wants to do is go to sleep.
“Haru,” Rin hears himself say, “I’ll take the – ”
Haruka pre-empts him. “Why? There is plenty of room,” so blandly Rin wonders if he recognizes the significance of what he is saying. But then, if this were a shoujo manga, Haruka would be the oblivious one, the one who doesn’t realize what is happening until it is too late –
I am not in a shojou manga, Rin tells himself.
“But you had better not kick me,” Haruka adds.
“I would never,” Rin says, accidentally too loud.
“Really?” Haruka says, voice stronger. “Then you must’ve grown out of it, because when we were twelve – ”
“Exactly,” Rin tells him, “I was twelve, and Nagisa was on my other side – ”
“I’ll let Nagisa know you’d rather blame him than shoulder responsibility,” Haruka says, and Rin wonders how he can (suddenly) sound so awake and like himself when, only a moment ago, he was so quiet. He can feel the tell-tale prickle of relieved tears at the backs of his eyes. Maybe, Rin thinks, I would be the oblivious one.
“Right or left?” Rin asks, blinking hard.
“Left,” Haruka says. Draping his pajamas over his arm, he crosses the room towards the bathroom.
“Don’t use up all the hot water!” Rin calls just before the door closes shut.
He thinks he might have seen Haruka smile.
***
When Rin comes to at half-past-eleven, the other side of the bed is empty. He can see a blurry shape seated at the windowsill, knees tucked into chest, arms wrapped around legs.
“Up so early?” Rin croaks, and Haruka turns in his direction. He is wearing a bathrobe, and his hair is wet.
“Mmhmm,” he says. “There was a phone call for you.”
Rin sits up, pushing his fringe out of his face. “Oh? Who was it?”
Haruka shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, “he was speaking English.”
Rin lifts his phone off the bedside table. There is a single text message from Coach Brown, time-stamped eight in the morning. I called you, it says, but you were asleep. I’m busy today, but I’ll see you tomorrow, at ten, in my office. There is an address at the end. Rin puts the phone down. He stretches his arms over his head.
“Well,” he says, “it seems my meeting has been postponed to tomorrow.”
He waits. Haruka does not say anything.
Rin sighs. “Is there anything you want to see in Sydney?”
“Not particularly,” Haruka says.
***
“Humpback whales,” the tour guide says, “are one of two kinds of whales capable of producing continuous sounds of varying frequency. We call these sounds whale songs.”
Rin has to strain to hear her over the roar of the wind and the sound of the boat’s engine. The smell of the ocean fills his nose. Sea spray settles on his face, clings to his clothing. Haruka leans against the railing, back to the rest of the group, arms folded. There are droplets of moisture sprinkled across the bridge of his nose, his forehead, his cheeks.
“Humpback whales sing for many different reasons. A lot of the songs you’ll hear today will be mating songs, because this is mating season – ”
“What is she saying?” Haruka asks.
“She’s talking about whale songs,” Rin says, almost directly into Haruka’s ear. “There are different types.”
“Humpbacks hunt in groups,” the guide says, “and they have feeding songs, too, to communicate with each other.”
Left of the boat’s prow, ten or so meters away, Rin sees a large, black shape burst from the ocean. The whale looks too big to be so graceful, but it leaps high, entirely clear of the water, suspended momentarily before arcing downwards: and re-entering the ocean, waves erupting from the point of contact.
Amidst the shouts, laughter and applause, Rin sees Haruka’s hands tighten around the railing. His eyes are wide again, but the glitter is back, shiny instead of dull. The whale breaches again, drowning out the guide’s explanation. Rin can hear it: low and eerie, with higher notes in between. It raises the hair at the nape of his neck.
“What other reasons do you think whales might sing for?” The guide asks.
One of the other tourists – he looks European, with hair so blond it is almost white – says, “to communicate with their families, or find them if they’re lost?”
“It’s a possibility,” the guide nods. “Whales travel in pods, so if a whale is separated from its group it makes sense for it to sing in order to find them.”
Haruka tugs Rin’s sleeve till Rin turns to look at him. Haruka’s eyes are very, very bright.
“What did she say?” Haruka asks, Rin’s sleeve still caught between his fingers.
“If they’re lost,” Rin says, slowly, “whales call out so that their family can find them.”
***
It so happens that, when Rin goes to see Coach Brown, Haruka accompanies him.
Coach Brown greets Haruka with a wide smile and a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Haruka,” he says, and grins in Rin’s direction. “He your boyfriend, Rin?”
Heat rushes to Rin’s face – Rin wishes he wasn’t quite so light-skinned. “No,” he says, “we’re just friends.”
I wish he were, though, Rin adds, mentally. But you don’t have to know that.
Coach Brown hasn’t changed much in the two years since Rin saw him last. There are, however, several new lines around his eyes and mouth and he has a lot less blond, straw-colored hair on his head.
“You know,” he says, stirring sugar into his coffee, “I’ve been following your progress, Rin. You’ve really shown some remarkable growth over the past couple of months. You’ve always been a great swimmer, with great potential, but you really exceeded my expectations this time around. I daresay I ‘m proud of you.”
“Thanks, Coach Brown," Rin says, and hopes his blush isn’t too bad. The collar of his dress-shirt feels uncomfortably tight.
“So,” Coach Brown taps his fingers against the wood of his desk. “What brought about such a drastic change?”
From Coach Brown’ office window, Rin can see the Opera House, and beyond that, the ocean, scintillating in the afternoon sun.
“Motivation,” Rin says, acutely aware of Haruka sitting so close their knees almost touch. Haruka is wearing brown corduroy trousers under a blue long-sleeved shirt; his idea of a compromise. “I was able to rediscover my drive.”
Coach Brown nods. “Winning is as much about attitude as it is about skill,” he says. “Well, I’m glad for you.”
“Thank you sir,” Rin says.
“I know the swimming coach at the University of Sydney,” Coach Brown continues. “He saw your race at – the regional championships, was it? He was very impressed. I’ve put in a good word for you, too.”
“Thank you,” Rin repeats, and wonders when he will get to the point.
The coach laughs. “Oh, you’re not getting it,” he says. “This is a scouting offer, Rin.”
***
There are large, curving fences on either side of the Harbor Bridge’s pedestrian walkway.
“To stop suicide jumpers,” Rin explains to Haruka as they walk down the bridge, cars on one side and the harbor on the other. “It spoils the view, though.”
Not by much: it is still possible to appreciate the buildings of Sydney’s business district, and the distant, curving shapes of the opera house. It is possible, also, to watch the rippling of water, and the wide, gold path leading up to the late afternoon sun.
Rin ties his jacket around his waist, letting his arms swing naturally as he walks. The backs of his fingers brush against the back of Haruka’s. With every oscillation, a tingle shoots up Rin’s hand, wrist and arm.
Should I? Should I not? Rin watches the petals of his metaphorical flower float into the wind.
Five minutes into the walk, he gives up and takes Haruka’s hand.
Will he let go? Won’t he? God my hand is sticky and gross –
Haruka’s grip tightens.
Rin’s heart falters.
There are two other Japanese tourists walking in front of them, two girls. One dwarfs the other the same way Sousuke dwarfs Rin. The shorter girl has an arm wrapped around the other’s waist, head tilted into her shoulder.
“Are you going to accept it, then?”Haruka asks, quietly. “The scouting offer.” Rin can almost hear him say, you’ve got so many back home, too.
Rin thinks about Makoto, the way his voice had cracked over the phone.
“He probably feels like I’ve – I’ve betrayed him,” Makoto had said, words thick with tears. “I’m not supposed to push him, you know? I’m supposed to let him do what he wants but Rin I can’t do it anymore. I can’t watch him destroy himself the way he is – ”
Destroy is a strong word, Rin thinks, but in a way, Makoto is right. Wandering aimlessly is the worst thing that can happen to someone. Human beings need direction, motivation, goals to work towards. If they don’t, well, that is how criminals are born. Criminals and addicts and those people who become ghosts lurking on the fringes of society.
One moment they are there; the next, they are not. Like a shooting star, burning out its brilliance too hard and too fast, with nothing to sustain it.
“I’m not sure,” Rin says, carefully. “I need to talk to my mother about it, and think about how practical it would be. I don’t want to make any rash decisions.”
The air smells different in Sydney, even though it is by the ocean, just like Iwatobi. It is a city, though, large and sprawling and more mechanical than natural, so that might have something to do with why the salt-smell is stronger, like metal in brine.
“Besides,” Rin says with a little laugh, “I want to swim for Japan, not Australia.” He turns his head to look at Haruka, pasting his best, understanding smile onto his face.
“The way you want to swim for yourself, and not for anyone else.”
The cries of the seagulls are harsher here, too, as if they are determined not to be outdone by the noise of the cars, trains, buses – the sounds of four and a half million people. Haruka bites his lip.
“Do I,” he says, finally, small and lost, “need a reason to do what I do?”
Rin takes a deep breath.
“Don’t you?”
***
Rin makes the phone call in the evening. Haruka is asleep, buried under the comforter, a mop of black hair barely visible over the top. He’d climbed in almost as soon as they got back, not even bothering to change clothes.
After several minutes of listening to the dial tone ring futilely, Rin debates over whether to leave a message or try calling back another time. Their return flight is early the next morning, though – and so Rin decides on sending a message.
“Thank you for the offer,” he says, “I’m honored you thought of me. I know I said I would ask my mother and give the idea more thought, but,” he pauses, wondering how best to phrase it, “currently, I think I would be better off in Japan. There’s a lot left I have to learn and I think home is where I’d learn it best. Maybe I’ll be back sometime in the future – but for now, thank you for the consideration and for everything you taught me. I hope I will continue to make you proud.”
Rin ends the call, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Well, he thinks, that’s done with. He’s almost sure he’s made the right choice: for one thing, his mother and Gou would be incredibly upset if he moved again.
He tosses his phone onto the bedside table, turning in the direction of the bed: and nearly jumps back. Haruka is sitting up – when did he get up, Rin thinks – hair awry, eyes very very blue, and looking far too awake for someone who just woke up.
“Oh, fuck,” Rin says, eloquently, “you heard that.”
Infuriating as always, Haruka says nothing. Very, very blue, Rin thinks, and his shirt, too big for him, is sliding off one shoulder. I am a saint, Rin reminds himself.
“I’m not very good at explaining myself,” Rin gestures at the phone. “But – I, ah, turned him down, if you’re wondering.”
“Were you even asleep?” Rin asks. The mattress dips as he sits on the edge of the bed.
Haruka shrugs. “Not really,” he says, and the room descends into silence again.
“I bet,” Rin says, at last, and laughs a little, “you would’ve been happier if I accepted. You know: you’d have been rid of me, and you wouldn’t have to deal with me again. It would’ve been easier for you.”
Shit, he’s so close, Rin thinks. He’s right there: if I just reached out –
“I don’t want to be rid of you, Rin,” Haruka says, quietly. The light overhead picks out gold highlights amidst the dark of his hair.
Rin stares at him. Haruka shifts a little, as if there is something he is trying to shake off.
“- Rin, thank you for bringing me here.”
The words are almost a whisper. Listening to him now, Rin can barely believe this is the same Haruka who had lashed out at him in the locker room after regionals. It is the most disconcerting thing in the world, realizing that this Haruka and that Haruka and all the Harukas in between are the same person, that behind the stubbornness and eccentric tendencies and mind-blowing talent Haruka too, can be scared, and vulnerable, and at a loss for what to do.
“You’re welcome,” Rin says as gently as he can. He wants to add, I don’t know if you’ve enjoyed yourself, but he’s afraid he might be misunderstood, and so, instead, he says, “thank you for joining me.”
Haruka nods, slowly, the bird’s nest of his hair quivering with the motion.
Rin reaches out, placing his hand against the curve of Haruka’s cheek. “Haru,” he says, and his voice cracks, “tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”
As if the world has slowed around them:
Haruka allows Rin to draw him closer. Rin slides his fingers into Haruka’s hair.
Haruka’s eyes flicker shut.
***
They walk the bridge again in the morning, just before leaving for the airport, hand-in-hand, noses and cheeks pink with cold. The first rays of the sun cast a faint golden glow at the edge of the horizon, a variegated expanse of oranges, pinks and blues. Their breath mists in the still, quiet air.
Somewhere across the ocean, a solitary seagull makes its morning call, and though it is far too inland, Rin thinks he might have heard the first notes of a whalesong.
***
end.