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It doesn't hit him until he walks home alone that night.
Alone.
Without Haru, his constant companion, by his side. Makoto can't remember details about what has happened after he came back to the beach. He must've said his goodbyes to Nagisa and Rei, must've told them that Haru went on ahead, that he already left. Perhaps he's even admitted that he hasn't gotten anywhere with him. That even someone like him, Haruka's best friend, someone who's close enough to be considered family, who's supposed to read him like the back of his own hand, hasn't managed to get through to him. He honestly can't remember.
(He's barely holding it together at that point.)
Something heavy sits in his chest, something he can't swallow down or shake off, something that makes his eyes burn and heart ache. It's like he's about to explode or implode or maybe both, Makoto doesn't know. Can't put his feelings into words. Funny, since he's usually the one to always find words to address a situation. And isn't that what brought on this mess? That he tried to talk to Haru, to speak out loud what no one else seems to be brave enough to say? Even Nagisa and Rei haven't gotten anywhere with voicing their thoughts, their honest and well-meant words and worries. They've only made it worse.
(Much like him.)
Weeks have passed since he's started thinking more and more about his own future. Weeks in which he's done his fair share of research, talked to his parents, talked to Amakata-sensei. Enough time to decide. More than enough time to share with Haru. Which he hasn't done. He tried but-
(He failed.)
The brunet bites his lip and starts walking faster. No more excuses. Excuses are what brought on this mess, excuses are what he has used to make his life more comfortable. He's done with them. Done with lying to himself that he's been too afraid. Afraid to approach the subject, afraid of Haru's reaction, afraid of the consequences. Terrified of the future, of what he has decided on.
Somewhere in-between taking care of everyone, in-between making sure that his loved ones are safe and that he has done everything possible to assure that, he forgets he shouldn't stick his nose into their matters. Haru was right about that part. He has his own problems to take care of and sometimes it's easy to ignore that. No matter how good his intentions are, sometimes the means don't justify the end.
The face Haru has made when he finally spilled his plans is one the brunet can't forget. Not when it displayed everything that Makoto has ever been afraid of. He has looked so shocked, so utterly devastated, abandoned and the brunet has all but wanted to reach out again, to hold him in place, to remind him that he is still here. Tempted to tell him that he's not going anywhere, but it's only because he knows that'd be a straight up lie that he hasn't done it.
(He's only heard his voice crack like that twice. In all those years he's known him – twice. And each time ripped his chest open, pierced his heart, left him to bleed dry.)
The walk home is a short one or maybe Makoto simply doesn't recall. He might as well have merely been going through the motions, following a familiar path with his mind everywhere but paying attention to his surroundings. Were it anyone else, he'd get angry at them, sick with worry over what could have happened on that walk. Instead, he's stuck with the sinking realization that he doesn't remember anything.
(He does remember Haru yelling at him. He'll always remember the look in those cerulean eyes.)
“Even you're talking like this?!”
Each step he takes, his eyes search for a familiar raven-haired, waiting for him at the stairs that lead to both their houses. He doesn't find him. Haru isn't there, they cannot talk it through, cannot talk about what has happened. Can't sort out their fight; and with that his chance to properly explain his plans to the other, voice his concerns a little gentler, is gone.
(Perhaps he's lost him.)
And isn't that what he's been so afraid of and tried so hard to avoid? To lose his best friend, one way or another? Not the way he's imagined it to happen, not at all, but somehow it still did.
(Tokyo. The inevitable distance. He can't see him, can't read him. They don't talk, they grow apart and he tries, tries, tries, but it's just not enough.)
“Do whatever you want!”
Makoto gives up, he arrives home and unlocks the front door. He's home earlier than anyone expects him to and suddenly the twins are by his side. They're excited to see their brother again, as per usual, and they cling to his hands and usually that's enough to light a warmth in his chest and for a smile to blossom on his face. He loves them so much, adores the support his family offers, knows they'll catch him if he falls. This time, he can't appreciate their attention over the painful way his heart clenches. It's unfair, they're his family after all, they-
(Haru is family, too.)
(h e c a n n o t b r e a t h e )
They're still too young and innocent to tell when he fakes a smile, but the affectionate way he ruffles their hair is real. It's because of them that he keeps it together. It's because of them that he takes the time to ask about their day, tells them of the beautiful firework. And yes, next year he's going to come home for the festival again and this time he'll take them with him. Minutes pass or maybe it's hours, Makoto can't tell. He's just glad no one notices. He doesn't want to be alone and yet he feels like he needs to be alone.
(Alone.)
(h e m u s t n o t b r e a k n o w)
By the time he wishes them a goodnight and makes his way up to his room, he's shaking. His hands are trembling and he's never felt so weak before. Not even after almost drowning in the ocean.
(Where Haru saved him. Saved his life. And this is how he thanks him?)
“It's meaningless without you.”
Everything is a routine after that. He changes his clothes, sets up his school uniform for the next day and goes through his bathroom routine. It's like his mind has shut down and he's running on auto pilot. Like every other day, except that he's still trembling from the force of trying to hold his feelings in.
(Is this how Haru sometimes feels? Bottling everything up without a way of letting it out?)
The closer he gets to his bedroom, the heavier his legs feel. It's not much of a distance but suddenly Makoto feels as if he'll never make it.
(He's weak, so weak.)
If only he had been stronger, maybe things would have worked out then. If he had been a better friend, more understanding instead of putting pressure on his best friends shoulder, maybe they could have figured out a way to just work it through--
(How could he ever expect Haru to rely on him when he's so weak?)
By the time the door closes behind him, Makoto's vision is blurry with tears. He's trembling, leaning against the wood behind him for support, knees shaking and feeling utterly disgusted with himself. He has no right to feel that way, he's not the one who got hurt, and yet he almost stumbles over his own two feet on his way over to the bed.
( weak weak w e a k )
Hidden inside the darkness of his own bedroom, face buried in the softness of his pillow and the blanket drawn over his head, Makoto
breaks.