Chapter Text
This is how it ends.
"I need to stay three more years in Australia," Rin says matter-of-factly, staring straight ahead at the children playing on the picnic grounds. A cool breeze flutters by, tickling the hair on his neck, causing goosebumps on his skin. He rubs his arm with his other hand to warm it before setting it back down on the bench.
There are seven inches of old worn wood between them, dotted with stray cherry blossoms, pale pink stark against speckled brown. They're sitting on a bench in the Japanese gardens of their favourite park in Tokyo, a wondrous, sprawling place of respite set in the middle of a bustling city. Over a thousand sakura trees are scattered across the park, transforming the landscape into a sea of white and pink. Around them, families and friends are gathering, setting up picnic blankets, while children chase each other through the well-trodden paths and arched bridges. Shinjuku Gyoen in spring is breathtakingly beautiful, and cold.
So cold.
"I know," Makoto answers, just as quietly. "Haru told me." He wrings his hands in his lap, and casts his gaze on the pond before him, watching as free-falling sakura gently trail down the surface, landing and making tiny ripples across the quiet expanse of the water. "And I already told you, I want to double major in physical sciences and education."
Rin knows of course. He's been up all night thinking what this all means, and the inevitable consequence that would follow. Consequences that are happening right now. Tears prickle at the back of his eyes, and for once, he does nothing to stop them. "So that’s how it is then."
Makoto’s head bows. His eyes are closed, as if refusing to show Rin the emotions surely toiling beneath them, but Rin can see them easily anyway, broadcasted in the tense line of his shoulders, the rigid curve of his back. "I'm sorry, Rin."
Rin turns his head away. "Did you always know that it would come to this?"
Makoto doesn't reply right away. Rin watches him from the corner of his eye, watches as Makoto's eyes slowly open, glassy but dry.
Then the corners of his lips rise, and he tips his head back, looking at the sky. Rin wonders how Makoto can still smile when the world as they both know it is crashing around them. But then again, maybe Rin shouldn't be surprised. Of all the people he knows, Makoto has always been the best when it comes to smiling through the pain.
"No," he finally answers. "But I’m not surprised."
"Why not?"
Makoto's smile falters, the cracks beneath his calm mask peeking out. "Because we both need to grow up."
Rin fingers clench around the rough material of his jeans. "And that means growing apart too?"
Makoto sighs.
"We need to think of ourselves first now. For both our futures," he says unhappily. It’s the most un-Makoto-like sentence Rin’s ever heard from him. He’s changed, and Rin would like to believe that it's for the better — he is the one who has always encouraged Makoto to be a little less selfless, to learn to prioritize his own needs over others.
But now, he just can't see how any of this can be good, despite the sound logic behind them. He bites his lip, and tries again. "Me losing the Olympic trials is not your fault."
"I know. You've told me so many times."
"But you don't believe it."
Makoto turns away. "I don't know anymore, Rin. I just want us both to succeed, and this…" He gestures at the empty space between them. "This isn't working out."
This isn't working out. Rin makes a dry, humourless sound, remembering the last time Makoto uttered those words. Second year in high school, over the phone, at a time in their relationship where they were still coming to terms with where they truly stood with each other. Makoto had been about to give up, but Rin fought back then, all spitfire and blazing resolve in the face of Makoto’s resignation.
He doesn't feel like fighting back now. He supposes this has been a long time coming. Long-distance relationships rarely last long. Rin has seen enough romcoms to know that but like the romantic idealist that he is, he thought that he and Makoto would be an exception. He had been so confident back then — Makoto's patience is incomparable, and Rin bleeds determination from every one of his pores. They would find the time, and if time refuses to be found, then they would make it. After all, they live in a world where online communication is as easy as a tap on a phone screen.
They'd make it work, the two of them; they've always fitted together in a way that brings out each other's complementary qualities — Rin is the air that buoys Makoto to heights he'd never consider otherwise, and Makoto is the soft earth that reminds Rin there are safe spaces to land.
Two is a lovely number, a romantic number. Pairs, partners, halves to make a whole.
Two is the number of cats Makoto has, a black stray named after Haru, and an orange tabby Makoto nursed back to full health after finding her shivering and half starved in a cardboard box in the middle of winter. Two is the number of birthmarks on Rin's legs, one just behind his left knee, and one in a spot only Makoto is privy to. Two is the number of years he and Makoto have been together, 2/2 is Rin's birthday, two is the number of jewelry he's given Makoto — one an onyx bracelet with orca and shark charms, the other a silver promise ring that Makoto wears on a chain around his neck.
Two is also the time difference between Tokyo and Sydney.
Two is the number of hours Rin waited for Makoto to come online so Makoto can greet him good luck in his upcoming trials. Two is the number of milliseconds between Rin's time and the qualifying time. Two is the number of times Rin has seen Makoto cry in the entirety of their relationship, one of them just two days ago, when Rin broke the news about losing the trials.
Two is a small number, and powerful .
It's strange how he and Makoto have both changed, how both of them have taken a little piece from each other, only for it to be the very pieces that would lead to their undoing. It's from Rin that Makoto has learned to take things for himself, and it's from Makoto that Rin has learned how to give way to others.
He doesn't feel the need to fight. This by itself is a lot more telling than anything else. He is the boy who fights, the boy who thrives under the harshest of pressures, the boy who says don't quit when things are at their very worst.
But now he's giving up. They both are.
He takes a deep breath and blinks. There are wet tracks on his cheeks. Beside him, the back of Makoto's hand is dotted with tiny transparent drops, like crystal on baked earth. "You're right. I guess it's for the best."
"For the best," Makoto echoes hollowly.
It's the middle of spring. Not far from them, a stray cat curls contentedly into a patch of sunlight on the grass. On a more far off, indiscernible distance, a flock of birds flap their wings in unison into a golden sky. There’s the sound of children laughing, tiny feet pattering on old wooden bridges. It’s a beautiful day.
And Rin’s heart breaks for the third time.
*
First :
He was thirteen.
It happened on a winter afternoon, and they met by chance. Haru had actually looked happy to see him, and yet all Rin could think about was if he was already good enough to beat this boy whose swimming took everyone’s breath away.
So he decided to find out. He spent a year in Australia, swam thousands of laps, ran several kilometers a day, practiced longer than any of his teammates. He should be better.
They raced.
Rin learned that Haru’s swimming could still bring him to his knees.
“Rin!”
It was the loudest Rin had every heard Haru call his name, as he ran away, half-blinded by tears.
Louder still was the sound of his own voice whispering in his head: “No, not good enough. ”
*
Second :
He was seventeen.
It happened on a summer afternoon. Regionals in Osaka, and he had broken another record. The leaves were as green as ever and the sun shone high in a cloudless sky. They were going to win, and Sousuke would finally see that sight he always wanted him to see.
“Why didn't you tell me?” he had asked, failing to stop the tears from falling as his world crumbled around him for the second time.
“Because I knew you would cry,” Sousuke had answered softly. His smile was the gentlest Rin had ever seen from him.
A nail in his hand would have hurt less.
*
The thing is, while his heartbreak happens for different reasons, it all hurts the same way— with Rin cradling his heart like an injured bird in his hand, taking care not to let it bruise further, trying to remember how to put it back in the cage between his ribs.
He always does though. Remembers, that is. Rin is strong, and he knows it. It’s true that he cries a lot, gets emotional over the smallest things and is easy to anger. But underneath Rin’s raw emotions and reckless volatility lies a will of iron and a heart of copper — iron that can take the heat, copper that can take the blows, bending at the strike but never shattering. He falls down seven times, he stands up eight.
That’s how it was then. That’s how it is now.
He recovers, and learns to love again.
*
It took him three years to get over his crushing defeat from Haru, and another three to get over Sousuke's broken dream.
It's been four years since he and Makoto broke up. He hasn't gotten over it.
A pair of neon-green earphones is still wrapped around a pink cable turtle in the side pocket of his gym bag. He still uses them when he goes running sometimes. There’s a box in his drawer filled with the following things: a movie ticket, a Japanese Literature exam with a perfect score, and an o-mikuji that reads “small blessing.”
Oh , he thinks dimly, when the last day after the fourth year passes and he finds his chest aching when he sees a white cat on the road, or green winter jackets with fur trim, or dark chocolate cakes on bakery displays. Sometimes, on sweltering summer afternoons when the sun filters in through his windows, he can see dust motes floating in the air, and the ghost of Makoto’s silhouette draped across his couch.
This is what it's like.
This is what it’s like to be stuck, to have this irremovable space inside of him that persists in carrying things he should no longer feel. As time passes, more and more, he feels like a thief trying to escape the chasm of Makoto’s memory, and his heart is the old loyal dog tirelessly guarding the gate.
~tbc~