Work Text:
Kaede isn’t thinking when he puts a hand on Haruka’s back and gives him a small shove into the cafeteria, only registering that he’d done it when Haruka startles beside him, when Haruka glares at him so slightly it almost looks silly. Kaede almost laughs. Instead, he raises an eyebrow and steps in with him: “Dunno if Ryuu-chan’s told you about our cafeteria’s mackerel yet but it ain’t that good.”
“…Ryuu-chan?” Haruka repeats, like it offended him personally, immensely to hear it— except however on earth his personal coach patched up whatever mess it was that had a rival straight-up praying for his sake is none of Haruka’s business. Besides, it’s offending him more to hear aforementioned rival so offhandedly disgracing mackerel. He makes a beeline to the trays and grabs one with extra purpose. “And there’s no such thing as bad mackerel, I don’t even care what he thinks.”
“Long story,” Kaede says as he follows, in response to the nickname, to assure Haruka that that Hazuki Nagisa’s Haru-chan habits haven’t rubbed off on him and it’s a whole different thing, so he shouldn’t worry about being called that by him of all people, if that’s why his eyebrows are furrowed. As for the rest of it, well, Kaede shrugs as Haruka steps aside, “And fine, set yourself up for disappointment if you wanna. I’m getting udon.”
Haruka doesn’t wait for Kaede to get his own shit before heading for the counter; Kaede watches him all the same, though he does keep his distance this time around. The guy’s a national record-breaker and he all but killed himself getting there to compete with a global champion at full strength, draw out both their insane potentials for all the world to see—but here he is acting like just another regular college student simply visiting a friend’s campus.
Kaede hesitates at the thought; he wouldn’t call himself Haruka’s friend or even his teammate, in spite of the medley relay-rally stunt they pulled at Fukuoka, and he wouldn’t call Haruka anything of his either, jersey blanket for a nap at the lobby notwithstanding. But it has to mean something when he found himself not unwilling to pick Haruka up when he caught him loitering around outside their university pool by himself. Not that Kaede has any clue what exactly, though.
Haruka is standing patiently and attentively in line with his tray, and he looks mostly okay; that he’s up and about at all should be enough to calm the irritation that’s been subtly though constantly fraying the edges of Kaede’s mind since the freestyle preliminaries. He’d felt it in the water, see, that reckless, reckless swimming, and he was painfully aware of the only place it led past 1st place on the scoreboard (not the podium, but the infirmary).
Kaede gets in line a few heads behind Haruka, still turning it over in his mind. When Ryuuji said he’d save Haruka, he meant he’d keep him from turning out like himself, kicking past limits to lose sight of what actually mattered around him, to lose himself, and to what end? Haruka, thankfully, never has to find out. And though Ryuuji hadn’t meant he’d save Haruka to keep him from turning out like Kiyofumi, some part of it feels all the same to Kaede.
Haruka’s been in and out of the hospital, or so Kaede’s heard. He never pried anyone for details since the mental image of it alone made him sick to his stomach. Thinking about it now is threatening to dampen his appetite at the moment, too, but in the end Haruka did make it out of there, dignified and alive, alive. Hell, he made it all the way to Naribusawa on his own, though it’s clear by the air around him that he hasn’t touched water since. Kaede can tell, he can just tell, but if pressed he’d say it’s because Haruka will be smelling less like chlorine and more like mackerel, if Kaede’s allowed the closeness to make that observation.
Kaede’s heard in passing, too, that they might actually go ahead and ship Haruka off to rehabilitation in another corner of the world, and aside from pissed because that would leave him to deal with all the local press by himself since he’s… still nearest the national record for freestyle, he’d also felt something else, something that he can’t be bothered to label despite its resemblance to anxiety with how it eats away at him at night demanding answers, because Kaede hasn’t caught any wind of Haruka coming back to swimming after that.
Oblivious to Kaede’s turmoil, Haruka carries on casually, finds him and Kaede a table towards the less crowded back of the cafeteria— that’s to say, he finds himself a table, and Kaede finds him after a while, somehow. Haruka is too busy breaking his chopsticks apart and cutting into his mackerel to pay attention to the fact that Kaede sits beside him instead of across him where he’d unconsciously pulled a chair free before taking his own seat, too busy relishing his first bite: “It’s good.”
“Worth the trip over?” Kaede prompts flatly, nudging Haruka with his elbow while he kicks under the table, hooking the underside of the vacant chair with the tip of his shoe and yanking it flush against the edge of the table so no one gets the bright idea to try to ask to sit with them. Kaede’s slowly getting used to the attention that came with the whole making-waves-in-the-global-stage thing, but he’s not in the mood for it now, not when he’s got Haruka alone. “If that’s all you came here for.”
“…It would be,” Haruka answers eventually, after a second, third, and fourth bite of the taste of home, savoring it as much as a cafeteria set meal could be savored. He’ll set out and meet a million people in the middle, so maybe he can let the mackerel matters rest. More importantly, for now, he starts to scoot back to face Kaede, to correct him, “but it’s not all I came here for, Kinjou, I—”
“—Drink?” Kaede is taking a cup of green tea from his tray, one he’d gone out of his way to grab and fill because Haruka forgot to fetch himself a beverage, head in the clouds as always when he isn’t in home territory just because the mackerel is tolerable. Kaede would’ve gotten him a salad or some dessert, too, which actually would’ve been on his way, but he didn’t want to have to make an excuse to get him something he doesn’t care enough to get for himself, as if he wasn’t carrying his own refillable bottle.
“…Thanks,” Haruka mumbles, settling back down, appreciative for a moment before he inevitably, instinctively wonders if Kaede cut him off on purpose. If Kaede’s figured out that Haruka has things to tell him, things that he doesn’t want to or isn’t eager to hear. Haruka supposes that confrontations are much easier in locker rooms, or in another country, or in the water especially, and though Haruka owes this explanation to no one, owes his swimming, to no one, he wants Kaede to know.
Kaede doesn’t want to know, though, at least he doesn’t think he does. Haruka’s gaze is deep and dark, like the water, drifting between murky gratitude and goodbyes, either thanking him for letting him swim for him even if they aren’t friends or teammates or anything, or bidding farewells or apologizing—heaven forbid— because there’s a possibility that this is the end of the line for Haruka, and Kaede’s having neither, having none of it. There are things more devastating than this to Kaede, and people more devastated about this than Kaede; to begin with, Kaede shouldn’t be able to afford to think about anyone but himself.
Yet here he is, still helplessly, hopelessly attracted to Haruka despite learning that they aren’t as similar to each other as he’d initially thought. Kaede means, it’s obvious, or it should’ve been, that he and Haruka were different people from the very start. The water is special with the familiarity it gave them, if it favors them—and it does, or, it undoubtedly did— but inside and outside the pool, Kaede was alone, while Haruka was surrounded by more love and companionship than he knew what to do with other than swim with all his heart and soul for.
That means they don’t really know what it is, what they are, what they have. That’s why Haruka relied on chance to catch Kaede after practice today, why Kaede relied on a whim to go along with Haruka, why they’ve been sitting together eating in clumsy silence and sentiment, floating in feigned normalcy, soaking in the atmosphere and drowning out the awkwardness with the chatter of other students, Kaede slurping thick noodles and thin broth while Haruka skillfully debones the rest of his grilled mackerel with his chopsticks and eats it between bites of white rice.
In one quite mundane and unnecessary show of synchronization, they finish their meals at the same time, put their chopsticks down and put their hands together to say their polite post-meal grace together, though for Kaede it’s more because he was raised with manners while for Haruka it’s a sincere acknowledgment of a good meal. Kaede guesses he’s happy for him, if only for that. If only for that.
“Alright,” he mutters dismissively then, moving to gather Haruka’s tray. The gesture would be easy to mistake for hospitality to an outsider, but Kaede though belatedly is noticing that this is blatantly rude, as if Haruka can’t handle the cleanup himself or like Kaede is trying to send him away, and immediately at that. But it’s not like Kaede’s ever been discontent to act like an asshole around him. Around anyone, really. “If you’re done here, hurry up and go—”
“—Kinjou.” Haruka’s grabbed his wrists, and he’s entirely unfazed by the loud clatter of their dishes and utensils when Kaede lets go of their trays out of surprise, unbothered by the curious gazes it earns their table from others. This sure does look like a fight, doesn’t it? It feels a bit like one, too, with the spike of adrenaline within both of them. And Haruka’s usually cooler, calmer than this but if it’s speed, strength, or straightforwardness, he’s decided at some point that he’d match Kaede, get on his level. So, he doesn’t waver: “Close your eyes for me.”
“Huh.” Kaede scowls, bites down a baseless, useless like-I’d-do-anything-for-you,-you-bastard. He instead questions, “What’s that all of a sudden? Do I look like I’d just play along?” The irritation rises instantly because Haruka huffs knowingly; at best and at worst, this is harmless in a childish kind of way, and if Kaede argued here he’d have to listen to Haruka justify why he thinks Kaede has any capacity for dumb games in him and then he’d be right, if he’s seen or heard how he acts around Hiyori and Ikuya. Kaede relents. “Shit, whatever, but if you try anything funny, Nanase—”
It’s Haruka who cuts Kaede off this time, though by neither wisecracks nor wise words—it’s the gentle touch and pat at his hair, the shifting at the nape of his neck and collar, the unmistakable weight on his chest, unmoving from the breath he unconsciously holds in and the beat his heart skips at the contact. Haruka makes quick work of it, in case Kaede’s just blinking and he’s overstepping, but he’s unapologetic as he pulls back, just as Kaede opens his eyes again.
They don’t meet Haruka’s. His vision is drawn downward, automatically, to where a gold medal is lying overlapped with his silver necklace, a wide red and blue ribbon burying the flimsy chain. He doesn’t look up yet because something is stirring in his chest, lurching in his stomach, and he doesn’t trust himself not to glare or cry or something: “The fuck is this.”
“There was only one set of medals for the preliminaries and finals, so this is yours, too, technically,” Haruka explains, dutiful and nonchalant in equal measure, as if they hadn’t thrown a metaphorical middle finger up at technicalities to do what they did in Fukuoka. They thought Japan’s national swim team would never hear the end of it, but they had all performed so amazingly they ultimately let it slide, and now despite being the catalyst of all of it, Haruka can talk about it like he’s talking about the godforsaken weather: “Natsuya-senpai just stole theirs off of Rin but Sousuke and Toono—Hiyori, ‘ve sent theirs between them, too.”
“And Ikuya has his own, right? swimming both prelims and finals like that,” Kaede comments just to follow that logic, to offset the discomfort. He distracts himself with it, considering the rest of Haruka’s story: “Seriously, though? Even Hiyori.” He’s surprised that they’re apparently on first name basis now, but that they’ve managed to hook Hiyori in on their stupid friendship bullshit at all is just as ridiculous. This entire situation’s nothing short of hilarious and hysterical.
But Haruka has zero damns to give that Kaede’s just let out a wry laugh under his breath at that. He isn’t even smiling. Yet there’s something that spells satisfaction on his face, different from the gratification of getting to eat his precious mackerel. It’s something more confident, and grounded, as if everything’s all right now that he came all this way for Kaede, now that the medal is on him like it’s where it belongs. “I’m passing this to you now, too—”
“—Don’t need it.” It isn’t that he’s boasting that he has plenty of his own, and it isn’t that Haruka is the type to take it that way, either; it’s just that Kaede doesn’t need it, plain and simple. He got more from those relays than anything any gold medal is worth, more than he can readily make sense of. But the longer he sits here with Haruka the more vivid the answer is becoming, in this proximity, this intimacy, this connection. If, from here on out, he can just keep swimming his free, for Haruka—
Kaede instantly hates himself for the thought, loathes himself for it. He should know better than to put himself through watching people cross lines they can’t come back from and leave him for dead with metal around his neck—he’d gone and gotten strong all by himself, for himself, and he isn’t built to shoulder anyone else’s dreams, not Ryuuji’s, not even Kiyofumi’s, and certainly not Haruka’s, even if some days, like today, Kaede wishes he is.
Because he does know better, Kaede clutches at the medal, fully intending to take it off. He can’t get hooked, too, can’t fall, can’t want more than what he has, can’t take it, if he has to lose it. He isn’t anywhere near the hero Haruka is no matter how inspired by him he’s realizing he’s become like the rest of the lot of them, and if they have to move forward without Haruka after all this, Kaede would rather save himself and throw it all away here and now while he can.
But Haruka reaches out, wraps his fingers around his to stop him, holds his hand and his heart steady: “I’ll win it back from you someday, so you just wait.” And while it’s such a simple statement, it sounds so much like a challenge, a reassurance, a promise, that this isn’t Haruka leaving his dreams to Kaede, it’s him leaving them with Kaede, for now, telling Kaede to stay where he is or fucking go further, because he’ll come back, of course he will.
Even though Haruka has no shortage of friends or teammates or rivals, not in Japan, not in the world, not in this universe, he wants Kaede to be there, be the one to hold the fort down for him, hold this goal up in front of him, so that he can keep swimming as himself, for the gold around Kaede’s neck, the gold in Kaede’s eyes. The clarity in the blue of Haruka’s stare brings Kaede so much relief it’s almost overwhelming. Kaede almost cries. Instead, he turns away. “I got it… Haruka.”
“Mm.” Haruka gets up, and when he lets go of Kaede’s hand, Kaede doesn’t mourn it, because it’s not a loss. He holds fast to the medal instead, just like Haruka wants him to, but he doesn’t look up or get on his feet to see him off, only nodding when Haruka volunteers to take both their trays for them. Then, responsible for nothing and everything, he simply walks off, not out of Kaede’s world or mind, just with a thankfully not final “See you around, Kaede.”