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“You know,” Rin says, setting his chin in the palm of his hand, “distance really is relative.” His voice is tinny, emerging from Haruka’s laptop speakers, and whenever he moves, a wave of pixels blooms across Haruka’s screen. Haruka is not sure if that is because of the bad reception or how tired he is.
“I mean,” Rin continues, evidently content carrying out a one-sided conversation, “strictly speaking, there are eight thousand eight hundred and ten kilometers between us right now – that’s eleven hours by plane, by the way – but here we are talking in real time. Don’t you think that’s the most incredible thing?”
Haruka adjusts his laptop computer so it is sitting flat on his knees. He can see himself in the little window at the bottom of the screen, a washed-out blue to Rin’s vibrant red.
“No,” he says, mainly to be contrary, “I am awake at two-thirty in the morning, watching your ugly face in exaggerated slow-motion. You look like you’re a character in a low-budget drama series. There is nothing incredible about that.”
Rin laughs. The sound is distorted by static, but Haruka’s breath still catches. He blames it on the lateness of the hour, and exhaustion.
“Excuse you, I look amazing,” Rin says, with exaggerated self-assurance. There is an impish gleam in his eye even Haruka’s terrible internet connection cannot mask, “I see you think you can disguise the depth of your love for me. It’s too bad I can see right through you, huh, Haru?”
It is Haruka’s turn to laugh. He stifles it with his fist. It is too late: Rin is already looking immensely pleased with himself, beaming with his teeth blindingly white against his skin, as if he’s drawn a winning lottery ticket.
“I think you’re confusing ‘love’ with disgust,’” Haruka says, straightfaced, but Rin’s delight is infectious, and Haruka can’t stop smiling, which spoils the effect.
“Liar,” Rin says, easily, and his smile softens. “You’re so tired you’re out of proper insults. Go on, go to sleep, I won’t keep you.”
Despite his earlier insistence that he’d rather be asleep, Haruka is suddenly, inexplicably, reluctant to end the call.
Rin is still smiling. “Go on,” he repeats, “we’ll talk some other time.”
Several simultaneous thoughts bubble up in Haruka’s throat: that their conversations are too far and in between, that he doesn’t want to go just yet, the old, oft-repeated enquiry of when will you be back, that he had been joking, Rin looks breathtaking, just like he always has –
The result is, of course, that Haruka is unable to say any of these things, that they rise in his throat all at once, and stick fast. Haruka bites the inside of his cheek.
“Good night, then,” he says. “good luck with the race. Make me proud.” Silently, he adds, love you.
Rin grins, another flash of bright teeth. “I do my best to. Goodbye, Haru.” Haruka imagines he says, love you, too.
The screen flickers, and goes dark.
end.