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He lays curled on the bed as Makoto’s concerned voice chimes from the nightstand where his voicemail is running. Even if he wanted to turn over and answer, he couldn’t; he couldn’t take the hopeful, innocent looks smiling up at him from tiny faces across the room where his old relay photograph was serenely displayed. The second his eyes had caught on it he’d tossed away, staring into the wall instead in disgust.
How had things ended up this way?
It’s far from the first time Rin had argued with Haruka. Hell, it was their entire routine - anything from dinner choices to college choices, the results of a world-class race or a race to the end of the block, if they didn’t have at least one squabble between the them then the day wouldn’t be complete.
But this... this felt totally different.
This was the first time Haru had ever been the one to start a serious fight. He’s fought back, sure, sometimes Rin was still haunted by the unadulterated rage he’d seen in those dead eyes that day in the locker room at regionals. But every time without fail, it had been Rin who antagonized, who looked for that anger and dragged it out of Haru, sometimes even intentionally. It had never been brought to him uninvited before.
He’d had to go as far as Australia to atone for his screw-up the last time they'd fallen out. This time, he worried there wouldn’t be any coming back.
He’s said the wrong thing so many times in his life, snapped at people he cared for and lashed out when all he really wanted was to pull them closer. As he curls in tighter on himself, he feels completely and totally empty thinking that perhaps this was even worse - not fighting back, not even deigning to give him the energy of a true fight, nothing but a callous declaration that he no longer cared.
"There’s no way it doesn’t matter to me... Idiot.”
It’s quiet, clipped, hissed under his breath in the empty room. A breath that hitches at the end, threatening to flood the desert of his somber apathy with the full force of tumultuous emotions dammed up behind it.
He isn’t at fault, really. He had only been there to tell Haru his decision, had been almost excited to up until he sensed something was off. It was Haru’s unexpected childish reaction, his cutting words so out of character he hadn’t known how to react, that caused the damage in the end.
And yet...
The claws digging in around his heart were undeniably guilt. After all, nothing Haru had said was really a lie, was it? That is what Rin does - pull everyone in just to leave them behind, over and over again. Even now, he’d listened to Haru clearly hurting, clearly alone, and rather than reassure him he wasn’t being abandoned, he’d let his anger get the best of him and ran away yet again.
He wasn’t blameless in this twisted game they’d been playing far too many years for people this young.
The cork holding in those bottled-up feelings was nearing its limit, and his hands were starting to hurt from where they were clenched so tightly in the sheets. He can’t keep doing this anymore. Rin needs Haru around just as much as Haru needs him, and he can’t just rely on him always being the one swooping in to save him. He needs to be there for Haru too, able to own up to his mistakes and be the strength and comfort that Haru needs even when he’s pushing him away, the same as he had done for Rin when he first returned.
With a surge of bitter, remorseful energy he whips back over and snatches his phone off the nightstand, punching in Haru’s number before he can think better of it. The ringing feels as though it lasts a lifetime as he waits on baited breath.
It hits a disconnect tone.
He tries again. Haru had only recently started putting effort into using his phone after all, maybe he missed the call. Maybe he was already asleep. Maybe he wasn’t purposefully ignoring Rin, cutting him out before he could leave the way he always does.
Please. Please pick up.
It’s not until the third attempt that the first tear finally falls, shattering the wall holding them back and leaving Rin only dimly aware that he’s sobbing into his knees where he’s doubled over on himself at the edge of the bed. His phone clatters as it slips out of his hand, fingers burying into his bangs instead while a year's worth of feelings rain out onto Rin’s lap with no sign of stopping.
The grinning, jubilant face of his youth mocks him from the picture frame across the room, surveying his breakdown with unchanging mirth.
He doubts he’ll ever hear that number answer again.