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Rin rolls out of bed at seven in the morning to his favorite Fall Out Boy song, turning his phone alarm off and quietly tucking the covers back around Haru’s still-sleeping form. It’s far too early to get up for a Saturday, but today is their anniversary, and days like this appeal to Rin’s sappy, romantic feelings and he wants to make it special.
Three years is a long time. Some people would crinkle their noses at him and try to tell him otherwise, but right now he’s still young and it feels like forever and he feels so incredibly blessed.
Tugging on a pair of sweats and brushing his teeth quickly in the bathroom, Rin grabs a hair tie and pulls his tangled hair into a quick ponytail. He opts to throw on one of the many tee-shirts lying around in the bedroom (it’s probably Haru’s, because it feels a little tight around the shoulders and, well, Haru is more slender than Rin is). He opens the door slowly, glancing back at his boyfriend – his face softens, because there’s something so tender about the way Haru’s face is so open, so vulnerable, slack-jawed and eyelashes brushing his cheeks.
He’s not really an excellent cook, and he’ll never admit it out loud to anyone, but maybe Haru’s just a tiny bit better at whipping together a meal than he’ll ever be. But the thought is what counts, and this morning he’s going to make Haru toast and eggs the way he likes them and Haru will be happy and wish him a happy anniversary and they can do things together later in the day.
When Haru finally walks into the kitchen an hour later (after Rin totally doesn’t burn two pieces of bread, which seems impossible because they have a toaster but apparently isn’t), he looks drowsy and a little confused.
“Why were you up so early?” he asks, a hint of a yawn in his soft voice.
Rin tries not to let Haru see him frown. “I wanted to make you breakfast.” He waits.
Noticing the plate of food on the counter, Haru smiles a little – even after all these years, it still makes Rin’s heart leap a little. “Oh,” he says, grabbing the toast and taking a bite. “Thanks.”
And his heart sinks, just a little. “You’re welcome,” is his answer, bright and cheery, and, he guesses, maybe Haru just forgot.
He stares blankly at the toaster for a while, all sorts of possibilities running through his mind like those quick scene-cuts in a movie montage. This can’t ruin today, it won’t, it can’t.
“By the way,” Haru says, opening the refrigerator, in search of milk, probably, because Rin knows that his boyfriend likes his toast with milk, and he forgot about that in his endeavor to fry up some eggs without too much brown on the bottom. “Nagisa and Rei want to watch a movie this afternoon, since Makoto’s back in town on break this week.”
“Sure,” he says, a beat late.
“Are you okay?” Downing a quick cup of cold milk, Haru brings the mug and the empty plate over to the sink and rinses them briefly with running water.
Rin smiles, the image of happy, excited, surprised. “I’m fine.”
It’s assuredly not fine, when he had planned on taking Haru to a movie later today to watch some stupid romantic comedy he had looked up movie times for last night, and then maybe a fancy dinner after that, but if Haru wants to do other things, fine. It’s fine.
They go on a run before lunch, and Haru doesn’t say much, so Rin just watches the way his eyes glitter when they turn a corner and the sun suddenly shines in his eyes, and then the way he has to blink to recover from the blindness. Panting lightly so his breath comes out in white puffs when they stop to wait for crosswalk signals, Haru turns to him.
“You haven’t been talking much.” Expectant, watching, waiting. Rin hopes Haru doesn’t notice the way his eyes widen a little and skirt his gaze, and he feels the tension rise like that hushed moment before the storm comes and the lightning begins.
He laughs. “Sorry, I’m still a little drowsy from getting up so early to make you food.”
“You didn’t have to,” Haru mumbles, and breathes on his hands so they don’t freeze up.
“I wanted to,” he says, and the light turns green and they begin running again. There’s a slight upturn to Haru’s lips that Rin probably would’ve missed if he hasn’t been watching for these little things for so, so long, and maybe even though the weather is chilly he doesn’t feel quite as cold anymore.
They make sandwiches for lunch, easy ones, just white bread and tuna (at Haru’s insistence, with the predictable eye-roll from Rin) and tomatoes and lettuce. Wondering out loud at his boyfriend’s apparent willingness to eat copious amounts of bread, Rin ignores the steely glare he receives.
Haru finally finishes – he sometimes eats with careful precision, like every bite he takes might lose him points in some sort of contest – and wipes his mouth with a napkin Rin hands him. “The movie’s at two.” That knife twists a little deeper in his gut, but he nods anyway and throws a smile behind him as he heads into his room to change.
They meet everyone else outside the theater, picking out Nagisa’s bright-yellow (tacky, Rin thinks, but for some reason he can make it work) sweater and Rei’s stiff figure – as they walk up, Haru and Rin discover that it’s because Nagisa’s flirting with the clerk at the cash register – among the people milling around next to the ticket booth. Makoto shows up two minutes before the film starts, flushed with exertion and spouting something about how the parking lot was too full and he almost tailgated someone when he was trying to find a place to park. None of them say anything about today, about what today is and what it means.
Maybe none of them care.
The movie’s predictably trashy, something that Nagisa probably picked, a horror movie with far too much blood and gore. All the important characters die by the hand of the crazed madman, and the lights come on again after the credits roll to some sufficiently ominous background music. Makoto looks a little constipated, and Nagisa and Rei have enough red on their cheeks that Rin suspects that they weren’t actually watching the movie.
Glancing at Haru, though, Rin wants to see him scared, to see him smile, anything. He grits his teeth and clenches his fists before grabbing Haru’s hand and pulling him back into the lit hallways of the theater, and the rest of the group follows.
They part ways after some general chatter about the movie (“Wasn’t that great?” a grinning Nagisa said to an incredibly embarrassed Makoto), and it’s almost five already when they get home because of the traffic.
Rin’s exhausted, and tired, and his legs are starting to feel kind of like they do after a particularly grueling race. Retreating into the bedroom, he changes into more comfortable clothes and sags onto the bed.
“What’s wrong?” Startled, Rin looks into Haru’s eyes. Worry glints behind the blue surface of his irises, and Rin breaks.
“Haru, I-“ The dam shatters into a million pieces and he cries, tears pooling at the edges of his eyes and falling down his face. “Do you-“
Cold hands cup his chin and force him to look into Haru’s eyes, so he can’t avoid him, can’t hide, can’t leave. “Rin, close your eyes.”
So he does, because if he can’t see Haru, then Haru can’t see him. He hears Haru walk away a short distance and rummage around in their dresser drawers, and then he comes back. “Open your eyes.”
His world stops. He can practically feel the tears stop halfway down his cheeks, cooling in the air as he struggles to breathe. Fixed on one point, one person, one moment because in this minute, this second-
“Rin, will you marry me?”
Haru is on one knee, holding out a small, velvet box. Inside it is a beautifully crafted ring, gold curling around a small diamond that winks at him under the dim light seeping from between the window blinds. Inside it is a manifestation of Haru’s love, dedication, time, years spent competing against Rin and then finally confessing to each other, years dating and getting to know each other inside-out despite all the insecurities and shortcomings and weaknesses.
He nods, because what else can he do? Pulling Haru in, he kisses him. Kisses him and shows him how much he wants to thank Haru, because words can’t convey how he wants him to never leave his side.
“You’re an asshole of a boyfriend,” he whispers into Haru’s shoulders when he pulls away.
“Fiance.”
Two hours later, Haru’s driving him to the restaurant Rin wants to eat at, the one he’d found after hours of looking at online reviews. Haru’s phone rings, and Rin is tempted to hurl it out the window, because of all people it’s Nagisa with that god-awful chipmunk-version of that Rick Roll song for a ringtone – he picks up after Haru indicates that he should, grunting a “What” into the receiver.
“Haru, has Rin cried yet? Have you proposed yet? When are you going to do it?” comes the far-too-excited, cheery voice.
“Fuck you, Nagisa,” he says firmly, and hangs up. He turns to Haru, who has a hint of a smile on his face. “Explain.”