Chapter Text
The scent of warm blueberry scones wafted through the room and Haruka nearly burned his knuckles pulling them from the oven when he processed what his mother told him. "What?"
"You heard me," his mother said, "We're almost out of cinnamon and I need some canned peaches and pineapple for dessert, so I'm going to the mercantile as soon as it opens. You'll have to tend to the customers while I'm gone."
"But Mom-"
"I'm sorry. I know you prefer to stay in the kitchen but until your father gets back from his trip to Hidaka, my hands are tied."
Haruka huffed as he put the baking tray onto a cloth and threw the towel on the counter. It wasn't like he hadn't been left alone in the café before, he simply wasn't one for feigned smiles and excessively-polite speech. He appreciated the patronage of every customer, but he'd rather not squabble with men who ordered sunny-side-up eggs and bacon only to claim they had specifically asked for omelettes when their plates were served. His mother was much more equipped to deal with those types of situations. It was better for him to stay behind the stove where it was safe to roll his eyes.
"I won't be gone for more than half an hour." His mother put her hand on his shoulder and bid him a comforting look. "I don't expect many folks to come in this early, but if they do and something happens, grit your teeth and go along with whatever they request. It's not worth to lose a loyal customer over one muffin."
"I know," Haruka grumbled as he busied himself with plating the hot scones.
"To make it up to you, you can get tomorrow afternoon off to go to the lake. Just be back before dinner rush and make sure to bring some fish to serve."
"How do I have the afternoon off if you expect me to catch fish for dinner? It's not even for me."
His mother shrugged. "If you catch enough and not all of them get ordered, you can eat the leftovers by yourself. You can swim a little while you're there too as long as you promise to bring your rod, and don't lose track of time like you did two weeks ago." His mother grabbed her basket and pressed a kiss to his temple. "Don't forget to flip the sign at eight. Love you."
"I won't," Haruka said as the door clicked shut. If this was going to happen more often, perhaps he should put a 'Help Wanted' sign on the windowsill. Then he could focus on what he excelled in and let someone else handle the troublesome work.
A couple of minutes before they - or rather, he - would open, Haruka decided to get the coffee brewing. Hopefully, no one would be here to drink it.
Alas, his prayers went unanswered. The bell above the door chimed at nearly clock stroke eight, and Haruka's eyeballs turned so far in their sockets he could practically see his brain cells dying. This was going to be a long day.
There was no use postponing the inevitable, so Haruka whipped out his notepad and pencil and walked into the dining area. The sooner he served this guest, the sooner they were out the door and he'd be alone again.
"Good morning," he said, mustering up every grain of strength in his bones to not sound too monotonous. "What can I get y-"
When Haruka looked up from his notepad, his breath hitched and heart stopped.
Seated at the table in front of him was a man he hadn't seen before. His face was downturned as he examined the menu, but he was undeniably handsome. Very handsome. Messy brown hair swept across his forehead, skin tanned from labour in the scalding sun, with a straight nose and full lips. If it weren't for the soot-stained work uniform, then his broad build would've been enough to sell him out as a miner; since the opening of the mine about seven months ago, new workers and their families moved to Iwatobi regularly, so it was no surprise Haruka hadn't met him earlier.
Haruka's throat ran dry as he ran his gaze over the guy's long eyelashes and he had to resist the temptation to dash back into the kitchen and chug the whole pot of coffee. But he didn't move a muscle and his expression remained neutral as he asked, "What can I get you, sir?"
Visibly startled, the guy looked up at him. His irises were green, so rich and vibrant, like he dug up the finest pair of emeralds during his mining work and shoved them into his head for safekeeping. While they were nothing short of mesmerising, that wasn't the only thing Haruka noticed now they were face-to-face: his cheeks were pretty round and free of lines and marks, giving him a youthful appearance. Haruka guessed the guy was around his age, perhaps a bit younger. It made his stomach churn.
Mining for coal was important, but that didn't make it any less dangerous. The thought of going to work every morning knowing something might happen that prevented you from returning home in the evening sent shivers down Haruka's back. It made him appreciate his parents' efforts and smart investments even more; if not for this café and their other assets, he probably would've been hacking at rocks alongside this guy.
"Um, excuse me?" the guy called sheepishly, snapping Haruka out of his daydreams. For his frame, his voice was surprisingly soft and mellow, like sweet maple syrup. "Are you ready to take my order?"
"Of course. What will it be?"
"Just some toast and a cup of coffee, please."
Haruka frowned. "Is that all?"
A bunch of miners came in for a hearty breakfast in the morning to stock up energy for a hard day of work. One ordered more than the other, but not many left without eating at least a croissant or a sausage or two. Surely toast and coffee wouldn't be enough to satiate a guy this large.
"Yes." When the puzzlement didn't fade from Haruka's features, the guy elaborated, "I'm not that hungry. Always had a small appetite."
That was a bit hard to believe and Haruka was about to offer him a scone instead, but he swallowed his words before they could jump off his tongue. Scones were on the menu and if the guy wanted one, he would've said so. Haruka didn't like arguments with anyone, let alone customers, so he wasn't about to instigate one. "Toast and coffee, coming right up."
"Thank you."
Haruka put the blank notepad on the counter and went back to the kitchen to prepare the guy's meal - if it even qualified as such. His cheeks were blazing and his whole body felt warm, but it was probably just because of the heat that radiated off the new electrical toaster his dad bought on one of his many trips.
While the bread was being roasted, Haruka sneaked a glance at the guy through the hatch. His chin rested on his fist as he stared out the window, seeming lost in thought. The light of the morning sun poured in through the frilly curtains, dyeing him in a golden glow. Ethereal, beautiful… wistful.
A burning smell entered Haruka's nose and yanked him from his musing. He pulled the toast out from between the hot metal and sighed in relief: it was a bit on the dark side, but still edible. He'd layer on some extra thick butter to salvage the taste.
Once everything was on the tray, he breathed in deeply before he brought the guy's meal over. "Here you go, sir."
"Ah, thank you." The guy removed his elbows from the table to make space for his plate and cup. "It looks delicious."
It didn't, but Haruka nodded anyway. "Milk and sugar?"
"Yes, please."
Haruka pointed to the containers to let the guy help himself; his mother would berate him for being rude, but it was quicker than asking how much he wanted. In his opinion, a back-and-forth about sugar scoops while the food got cold was far ruder.
The guy didn't mind and added the desired amount to his cup, which was a lot: the liquid nearly spilled over the rim. If he was going to add this much, he might as well have gotten plain milk. It was kind of cute. Not that it was any of Haruka's business.
"Enjoy your meal," Haruka said as he picked up the tray, and he turned around to walk away when a hand caught his arm. It felt rough against his wrist, but also very warm. Comforting.
"Excuse me?" the guy said, and then he smiled. His gemlike irises were already enthralling, but there was nothing that could've prepared Haruka for his breathtaking smile. Upon seeing it, the jitters in his skin dwindled and ease flowed through his veins. He couldn't help but think he was lucky to be on the receiving end of it, yearned to always be greeted with such tenderness.
"Yes?"
"I don't believe we've met before, have we? I'm Makoto Tachibana."
Makoto. Somehow, that name suited him. It sounded gentle, a caress to his eardrums.
"Haruka Nanase," Haruka said, "Just Haru is fine, though."
"It's very nice to meet you, Haru," Makoto said with an adorable tilt of his head, eyes falling shut in delight.
On Makoto's tongue, Haruka's name was pure honey. His blood shot up to his face and he mumbled another, "Enjoy your meal," before he sought out the safe haven of the kitchen. He leaned against the counter and willed his foolish heart to quit beating so harshly, for there was no reason to. If only his cheeks had cooled down and his palms were no longer sweaty when Makoto was ready to pay.
That night, Makoto came to the café again.
Haruka's mother had long since returned by then, so Haruka was relieved of his serving-duties, but he instantly recognised Makoto's sweet voice among the choir of gruff grumbles and bellowing laughter. For the first time in his entire life, there was a tiny part of him that wanted to go out among the crowd to be the one to talk to Makoto. It was incredibly stupid, so he repressed the longing and went to work on plating his meal: a glass of water and a bowl of the day stew. He couldn't resist stealing another glance at him through the hatch, though.
When his mother noticed, he got scolded for dawdling, but it wasn't severe enough to deter him from doing it once more.
Since then, Makoto visited the café twice a day, seven days per week. Every morning and every evening, it was like a personified ray of sunshine entered the café, lighting up the room with his very presence. His mother attended to him mostly, but if things were getting too busy, Haruka would take it upon himself to bring him his standard meal: for breakfast, coffee and toast and for dinner, the day stew and water. He told himself it was to help his mother out and if he had to serve anyone, then he'd rather be met with Makoto's soft gaze and kind smile than the snides of a bitter old man.
Truth of the matter was that he was curious. Not just about Makoto and who he was, but also about his strange eating habits.
Many people had a favourite dish in their café and ate it regularly, that wasn't odd. If his parents would allow it and they had enough, Haruka would prefer to eat mackerel for every meal, too. But most people wanted some variety, both in flavour and nutrition. And it wasn't like toast and stew were anything special. At least not special enough to eat this often.
So Haruka thought he might have some food allergies or other health problems and ate the same meals to be safe. But while toast didn't change from one morning to the next, the stew was different on most days and Makoto had no way of knowing what was going to be in it, so that option was scrapped too.
These speculations about Makoto occupied Haruka's mind from dawn to dusk, to the point they split his skull with aches and started to get on his nerves. He had to get rid of them, to clear his brain so blissful silence would reign in his head once again. And there was only one way to accomplish that.
One Saturday around noon, Haruka went over to the mercantile to collect some supplies. On his previous trip to Samezuka, his father brought him a set of newly imported watercolours. He recently ran out, so he purchased some from the store to be shipped to Iwatobi and his package should've arrived by then.
He was still pondering whether or not to get some new brushes as well when the door was hurled open in front of his nose and Makoto stepped outside. His presence wasn't surprising, but it startled Haruka nonetheless.
Sometimes, when he was out on an errand or mindlessly strolling through town, he would run into Makoto and they would chat for a bit. Although Haruka despised small talk otherwise, it was different with Makoto. Pleasant, not forced. He always greeted him with his usual tender smile and wished him a nice day as they parted. And when they did, not only his head was filled with wonders, but his stomach with flutters, too.
"Oh, good morning, Haru," Makoto said with that habitual tilt of his head that made Haruka's heart swell. "Or should I say good afternoon?"
"Either works." Haruka shrugged. "Here to pick something up?" he asked, eyeing Makoto's empty hands.
"Just wanted to see if there was any post for me, but that wasn't the case."
"Are you expecting something?"
"No, not in particular." Makoto rubbed at the back of his neck and shifted his gaze away. His words sounded genuine, but something about his behaviour suggested it wasn't completely true. "I have today off and I rarely have the opportunity to drop in and ask, so I figured I might as well stop by for a moment to check."
Now he mentioned it, instead of soot-smears, he was clad in a clean cream button-up with some brown trousers and suspenders. Haruka didn't think he'd ever seen him in casual clothes before, otherwise he would've noticed sooner how skinny Makoto actually was. His work uniform showed off how broad his shoulders were, but concealed the rest of his body: thinned forearms poked out of rolled-up sleeves and the shirt pooled around his narrow waist.
Haruka already had his doubts about Makoto's supposed small appetite and this confirmed his suspicions were right. But if he called him out on it in broad daylight, Makoto would probably avoid the subject, laugh and brush it off as his imagination, because he was fine. He wouldn't go as far as to claim he knew Makoto well, but during their little conversations here and there, Haruka had grown quite accustomed to his demeanour and mannerisms.
If asking him directly wouldn't work, then he had to think of something else. For now, he had to buy himself more time.
"Are you free tonight?"
"Yeah?" Makoto said with his sweet smile.
"Would you like to come over for dinner?"
"I always come over for dinner, don't I?"
Makoto chuckled and warmth rose to Haruka's face. "No, I meant…" he mumbled as he shuffled his feet. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"
"Oh. Oh, uh, yeah," Makoto said and a pink blush dusted his cheekbones too. "I would like that."
"Then, see you at the café at eight?"
Makoto's smile softened. "I promise I'll be there."
The corners of Haruka's lips threatened to curl up and mirror Makoto's expression and he swiftly spun around so Makoto wouldn't see. He began to walk off but Makoto called after him.
"Haru!" Haruka turned back and Makoto pointed over his shoulder at the mercantile's door. "Weren't you going in?"
If his cheeks were scorching before, then they were ready to explode now. Haruka bolted past Makoto and tugged the door shut behind him. Makoto's giggles echoed beyond the glass, and their joy overwrote his embarrassment.
When he got back to the café, he asked his mother if he could have a guest over for dinner after hours. A knowing glint lit up her cobalt eyes, but all she said was, "Sure, if you clean up after yourselves."
With his mother's permission, he started with the preparations for a large meal: tomato soup with fresh bread as a first course, salted mackerel with a side of salad and baked potatoes for the main dish, and for dessert a small chocolate cake. That was the first step of his plan.
A small grin prevailed on his lips as he chopped up the vegetables and shoved a loaf into the oven. He told himself it was because he was curious and his burning questions might finally be answered tonight. But deep down, he knew he was excited.
Night fell at last and Haruka's gaze darted back and forth between the soup simmering on the stove and the clock ticking away above it far too slowly. Eight on the dot and three soft knocks thrummed through the wood. Haruka smiled. Makoto was punctual as always.
Haruka swung the door open and his mouth fell agape at the sight of the handful of daisies and buttercups Makoto clutched against his chest.
"Good evening, Haru," Makoto said. He followed Haruka's fixated stare to his hand and seemed astonished by what he found between his own fingers. "Oh, um, on the way here, I realised I didn't bring anything and that would be awfully rude of me, so I plucked some wildflowers. I hope you like them."
"Idiot, you didn't have to bring anything," Haruka said, but he accepted the little bouquet anyway. "Thanks."
The signature expression lit up Makoto's face and Haruka bit his bottom lip.
"Sit down. I'll put these in a vase and then we can eat. I hope you're hungry."
"Starving," Makoto chuckled as he patted his stomach. While it was supposed to be hyperbole, it wasn't too hard to believe.
Between spoonfuls of tomato soup, they chatted amiably about anything and everything. Whenever he was with Makoto, it was so easy to lose track of the minutes blending to hours, but Haruka hadn't forgotten there was a purpose to this dinner.
The soup and bread were more than Makoto usually ate for breakfast, yet he didn't seem to have much trouble with it now. Haruka thought he might've just cleared his plate to be polite, but the main course didn't make him falter either; he took large bites and conversation flowed forward effortlessly. If he could eat this much with no issues, how could toast and stew satisfy him otherwise?
Then, it hit him. Toast was the cheapest item on their breakfast menu. For dinner, stew was its counterpart.
This revelation, though very important, only confused Haruka more; there must've been a reason he was being frugal. He presumably earned the same the other miners did, but no one put themselves under such dietary restrictions as Makoto. On payday, many splurged on filet mignon with extra potatoes and mushrooms, which cost far more by itself than an entire week's worth of toast and coffee.
Throughout their little chats, Haruka learned Makoto lived in one of the houses provided to the miners by the company, so it wasn't like his living expenses were higher than anyone else's either. In fact, a lot of his colleagues had wives and children to take care of too, while Makoto was a bachelor.
No matter how many possible explanations Haruka made up, none seemed to fit Makoto quite right. There had to be an answer to this enigma, and Haruka was determined to find out. All that was left to do now was wait for an opening.
Thankfully, Makoto didn't disappoint. After he stuffed the last bite of fish into his mouth, he sighed in delight. "This was delicious, Haru," he said, his napkin masking his smile as he dabbed at his mouth. "Thank you for inviting me."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Haruka said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I made a chocolate cake earlier. Would you like a slice?"
Wonder illuminated Makoto's pupils. "Yes, please. I love chocolate cake!"
Baited like an unsuspecting trout. "I'll cut it in a minute, but first… can I ask you something?"
"Sure, anything," Makoto said, still unaware of how deep Haruka's curiosity lied.
"Why do you always order just toast and stew? You said it's because you have a small appetite, but that's obviously not true."
All colour drained from Makoto's face. His napkin slipped through his fingers as his gaze dropped to the tablecloth. When Haruka first met him, he'd thought there was an aura of wistfulness surrounding Makoto, but never before had it been this apparent.
"You don't have to answer if you're not comfortable," Haruka said, regret stinging at his gut. He wanted to know what plagued Makoto's life, what intentions fueled his actions, but not at the cost of his smile. "I'm sorry for prying."
"No, it's alright," Makoto said as he whipped up his head. The corners of his lips were forced upwards, but his eyes remained filled with melancholy. "I… have two amazing siblings. Twins: a girl, Ran, and a boy, Ren. They mean everything to me."
Haruka's eyebrows were raised in surprise. Makoto hadn't mentioned having siblings prior to now and judging by the pained look on his face, there was a reason for that. So far, Haruka didn't see the correlation between his question and Makoto's answer, but he told himself to be patient for Makoto's tale to unravel.
"My family lives in a small town, Sano, and we're not exactly wealthy. Never have been, but we could get by just fine until…" Tears welled up and he bit his lip to keep them at bay. "Until there was an accident in the mine where our father worked."
Doom lapped at Haruka's neck like a candle about to topple over and set the whole café aflame. His blood ran cold and crystalised inside his veins, and he reached out and placed his hand over Makoto's trembling one. He didn't know what to say other than, "Makoto."
The call of his name snapped Makoto out of his pensiveness and he quickly stammered, "My father's still alive! He was one of the handful of survivors that day."
Haruka let out a breath of relief, but Makoto didn't look relieved.
"Thankfully he survived, but he didn't get out unscathed. The structure inside the mine collapsed suddenly and when my father and his colleagues tried to flee, a falling beam landed on his back. It snapped his spine in half and his colleagues had to drag him out. He's wheelchair-bound now, paralysed from the waist down." Makoto paused for a moment to take a big gulp of water. "The mine was closed after the incident. My father tried to find another job, but no one would hire him. Everyone prefers a healthy man over a disabled one."
How cruel. He couldn't do heavy manual labour anymore, but Makoto's father was no less fit for a desk job than anyone else.
"We received some money from his insurance, but it all went to my father's medical bills. My mother worked as a seamstress, but my father needs round the clock care so she had to quit her job. She does some work at home when she can, but it's not nearly enough to provide for us all," he said, "My father became so depressed, not only because he needs help getting out of bed and going to the outhouse, but also because he feels like he failed as a husband and father. He said that it would've been better if he died, then he wouldn't be such a burden to us and we would still have his life insurance money."
"That's horrible," Haruka said as he rubbed his thumb over Makoto's hand.
"How could he ever say that? How could he ever think he's a burden?" A single tear spilled over and streamed down his cheek, and he sniffed deeply as he wiped it away. "Sorry."
"It's alright." There was nothing Haruka wanted more than to leap up from his chair and envelop Makoto in his arms, so he could cry his heart out on his shoulder. But no matter how fierce the desire was, Haruka was frozen to his cushion. The sole part of his body he could move was his hand, and he squeezed Makoto's fingers tightly.
When Makoto regained his composure, he took another sip of his drink before he continued, "I'm the breadwinner of our family now, but after the mine closed, all the good jobs that were up for grabs were gone in a second while I was still recovering from the shock of my father's accident. All that was left were smaller jobs, nowhere near enough to provide for my family. There was nothing left for me to do there, so I had no choice but to move here."
It took immense bravery to come to Iwatobi by himself and work in the mine after everything that happened, but as Makoto said, he had no choice. Sometimes, cowardice wasn't an option. While Haruka was glad Makoto moved here so they could meet, he dearly wished it would've been under different circumstances. "You must miss your family a lot."
"I do," Makoto confirmed, "At first, they wanted to come with me, but I declined. The twins go to school there, my parents have their friends and their community, I couldn't possibly expect them to give all of that up. It was already so hard for them to adjust to the new situation, so I can't imagine how difficult it would be for them if their home changed, too."
"But it was hard for you too, wasn't it?"
"It was, but I don't mind. Anything to make them happy," Makoto said, and for the first time since this topic was breached, the genuine glint returned to his emerald irises. "That's why I'm trying to cut corners wherever I can, so I can support my family, and also to save up a bit for the twins' future."
"So your brother won't have to work in the mine?" Haruka asked.
Makoto nodded. "He and my sister are both so smart. I know they can do anything they set their minds to. I want them to be able to make their dreams come true. School isn't cheap, but they're still young so I have a couple of years left."
If Haruka didn't admire Makoto and his hard work already, he would've started to now. Sacrificing himself and endangering his life like that for his siblings, how selfless could he be?
Slowly, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place and the fog in Haruka's mind began to clear, but there was one piece still missing. "But then why do you come to the café every day?" he asked. While he ordered the cheapest items on the menu, surely cooking for himself would be even more cost-efficient.
A blush flared up Makoto's cheeks, grief replaced by embarrassment, and he awkwardly rubbed at his neck. "Well, you see… I'm a terrible cook. And I mean terrible. I can't make toast without burning it, my eggs are crisp-black and still have pieces of shell in them, I cut my fingers more often than the tomatoes, you get the idea. Eating plain bread for every meal got tired after a while, so I decided to check out the café. It's cheaper than ruining meals."
A soft chuckle escaped Makoto's lips and the sound of it made a weight drop off Haruka's shoulders. He smiled, just a little. "We are grateful for your patronage."
"I'm happy to come here, too. Your mother is so kind, she reminds me of my own mom," Makoto admitted as he averted his eyes, bashful. "And your food is so good, it makes me a bit less homesick. And well, I like seeing you, too… It's the highlight of my day."
"...Mine too," Haruka mumbled and heat emerged in his face again. Before Makoto could say anything else, he shot up in his chair. "Cake."
He went over to the counter, lifted the lid off the cake and searched for a knife. While he was slicing it, another realisation dawned upon him.
"If you can't cook, then what do you eat for lunch?"
"Oh, not much. Usually an apple or a banana, something I can easily take with me that doesn't require any cooking, baking or cutting."
Haruka's jaw nearly plummeted to the hardwood floor. "That's it? You eat such meager breakfasts and then you eat an apple for lunch?"
"It's fine, really." Makoto frantically waved his hands in front of his chest. "I'm not that hungry anyway."
Haruka knew he couldn't win this argument with words, so he made up his mind. If Makoto couldn't feed himself properly, then he was going to feed Makoto himself.
True to his word, when Makoto ordered his toast the next day, Haruka added a fried egg and two strips of bacon to his plate. He was about to bring it over to Makoto, but his mother stopped him. It wasn't very busy at the café so there was no reason for him to help out.
"Who's this for?" she asked when she saw the contents. "I don't recall anyone ordering this?"
"It's for Makoto."
"Makoto didn't order this. He always orders toast only."
Haruka sighed. He had wanted to keep Makoto's secret to himself, but he couldn't hide anything from his mother. Especially not things that went down inside her café. "Just give it to him. If he protests, insist and walk away. I'll explain it later."
The crease between his mother's eyebrows prevailed as she looked at him sceptically, but after a few seconds, she turned around and went back into the dining area.
By the time Makoto was ready to pay, the café had gotten more crowded and his mother was swamped with work, so Haruka went over to the register with a packed bag.
"Here are your leftovers."
"Leftovers? I didn't have any leftovers," Makoto said with a frown. He peered inside the bag, saw the sandwich and chocolate-chip muffin that were inside, and his ears grew red. "I didn't order this."
"It's on the house."
"I can't accept that. How much for this and the egg and bacon?" Makoto opened his wallet to pile more coins onto the counter, but Haruka left them where they were. "Haru."
He could press all he wanted, but Haruka wouldn't budge.
"You only ordered toast, sir," he said, pretending not to know what Makoto was talking about. "This is enough."
Makoto bit his lip. It was obvious he found it difficult to accept charity, so Haruka had to be a bit more urgent.
"If you're not eating properly, you won't have as much strength and won't be as alert. You know how dangerous mines can be. You wouldn't want to compromise the health of your colleagues now would you?" Haruka hated to guilt trip Makoto into accepting the food, but he saw no other option. "Just take it."
Another moment of hesitation passed as Makoto contemplated whether or not to accept Haruka's reached-out hand. He clicked his tongue, and Haruka smirked; Makoto's shift was about to start, while Haruka was in this café for the rest of the day, with all the time in the world to argue.
"Thank you, Haru," Makoto caved after an intense stare-down, "I promise I'll make it up to you."
He waved over his shoulder and exited through the door. That night, when Haruka was blessed with Makoto's radiant smile, his debts would be paid off in full.
Once breakfast rush was over and Haruka and his mother were alone in the café, he could no longer avoid the subject. He boiled some water to make tea and sat his mother down at the kitchen table. Then, he told his mother about Makoto and his history, about his father and the accident - though he omitted some of the more personal details -, about his little siblings and how he was saving up for their futures by underfeeding himself.
"Oh, that poor child," his mother said, clutching her chest, "I didn't know something like that happened to him, and he's still so young. Too young for such responsibilities."
"Look, you can take everything I give him extra out of my paycheck," Haruka said. His mother was kind and emphatic, but she was a businesswoman first and foremost. "Then the café won't suffer for it and everything's fine, right?"
"Nonsense," his mother said, "Nothing will be taken out of your paycheck. We make enough profit, the café won't miss a sandwich or two a day."
Haruka's eyes widened in surprise. "Are you sure?" he asked, because he hadn't expected his mother to agree to it so easily.
"Of course. Makoto is a good man and we should help those in need," she said and took a decisive sip of her tea, "Given how much he resisted, I don't think he will take advantage of our generosity. And if a day ever comes when we need his help, I am confident we will receive it."
His mother might as well have been a fortune teller. About a week later, a storm ravaged over Iwatobi. Gusts of wind ripped the sign off the café's facade, leaving it torn on the porch. With his father still out of town, his mother's fear of heights, and Haruka's hands only being useful for cooking and crafting, they had no one to turn to but Makoto. The instant he heard of what happened, he flew up the ladder before even ordering his breakfast.
That was how Makoto became Café Nanase's official repairman.
Seasons changed and with it, Haruka's feelings towards Makoto.
Every morning, Makoto would sit down at his set table and order his toast, not daring to ask for more. Along with it, Haruka would whip something up for him with whatever he had lying around: a pancake with some fresh fruit on the side, a warm muffin or, if the delivery just arrived, a couple of sausages and beans. His protests would never cease even though Haruka reminded him frequently of the fact it was a mutual transaction, but he cleared his plate every day. When he finished his food, he got up and paid with a grateful smile. As Haruka watched through the window how Makoto's retreating form merged with the hoard of miners trekking through town, his heart would sink to his feet.
At first, Haruka would pack Makoto a lunch to take with him to work. But their bond gradually deepened and Haruka's desire to spend more time with him grew stronger. Instead, he arranged for his own lunch break to overlap with Makoto's and he would go over to the mine so they could have lunch together. Oxygen filled his lungs whenever he recognised Makoto among the crowd, waving Haruka over like they were lovers, reuniting at the train station after months apart. His stomach would flutter with every bite, yet the second the bell chimed to signify lunchtime was over, nausea would surface. The food would piece itself back together and crawl up to his throat, where it was stuck until dinner rush began.
Most evenings, stew remained on the menu for Makoto, but Haruka made sure to scoop up an extra large bowl. Once in a while, though, if Makoto appeared to be down or more exhausted than normal, Haruka would surprise him with a steak or some pasta. And every Saturday, Haruka would cook a special dinner for the two of them. Those nights, Makoto returned the favour by helping Haruka and his mother out with the dirty café dishes. Afterwards, they could sit on the porch for hours, speaking of dreams left unvoiced or gazing at the starry sky in serene silence, unaware of the hands of Haruka's pocket watch completing circle after circle.
On their days off, they would visit the lake together. They'd have a picnic, fish for the café, swim in the water to cool their skin from the abusing summer sun. Sometimes, Haruka would bring his sketchbook and eternalise how glistening beads dripped from Makoto's hair over his bared torso. As the drawings progressed, Makoto appeared healthier and stronger as meat settled around his bones and covered up his exposed ribs. But no matter how many attempts Haruka made to capture the greenness of his irises and the radiance of his smile, his artwork could never do Makoto justice.
Being with Makoto, for an afternoon or even a few minutes, brightened Haruka's entire day. Cooking was his job and he hadn't disliked it, but he didn't expect that watching someone he cared for eating what he created could be so fulfilling. Painting was a fun pastime, an outlet for his feelings, but he hadn't thought he could feel so inspired by another person. Even the lake water, that had always welcomed him with outstretched arms, felt much more inviting if he wasn't floating by himself.
Contrary to what he had expected, solving the mystery and satisfying his curiosity didn't eradicate the thoughts of Makoto that played around in his mind. In fact, the more he learned about him, the more he craved to know. From the way he held his teacup to the jokes that would make him laugh until tears sprang to his eyes. The curve of his wrist as he scratched his cheek in nervousness and the swirls he put beneath his name at the bottom of letters sent to his family. The security of his embrace and the warmth of his breath. Every drop, every sliver, every mannerism. Haruka was desperate to consume it all.
The tingles that were ever-present in his abdomen weren't solely from joy, though. From Makoto's first good morning to his last sleep well, Haruka's happiness was besmirched with what-ifs. What would happen if Makoto walked into the mine, on a day like any other, but didn't walk back out? What would happen if Haruka scooped up his stew and brought it over to his table and his seat beside the window was empty? What if this whirlwind that opened his heart to feelings yet unbeknown to him were to vanish without a trace?
Haruka was able to place these thoughts on the backburner for the most part and revelled in every flavour Makoto brought to his life. But they were always present, lurking to spoil his appetite.
But he could live in uncertainty because every dinner was a victory. As long as he kept hoping, wishing, praying that tragedy wouldn't strike, he could enjoy the moments he got to spend with Makoto. That was what he clung on to.
Alas, the day he'd been dreading since long before he met Makoto proved itself to be inevitable.