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She tucks long hair behind an ear, lithe fingers topped with dark blue polish, painted by her mother. They shine almost as strongly as her eyes, which gaze at the ocean with an intensity almost rivaling the green-eyed stare of the boy next to her.
"Makoto," she murmurs, shifting her gaze to the brunet, their shoulders brushing through the thin fabric of the coverup she's wearing, the thicker fabric of the boy's swim jacket. "You're staring."
"Oh!" His cheeks burn red under her furrowed-brow glare, watching the way her nose wrinkles, like it often does when she's annoyed. "Sorry, Haru-chan." He smiles, corners of his eyes wrinkling. "The sunset makes you look pretty."
"Stop that..." she mutters, drawing her coverup closer into her, almost shying away with the way she hugs the fabric.
He laughs, figuring she's embarrassed - it's not often people talk to her, finding her personality hard to understand, and even less so that she's complimented. The sound is gentle and chiming in her ears, a stark contrast against the sharp crash of the waves in front of them.
They sit in silence for a while, nothing but the noise of the rolling water between them, before Makoto stands and offers his hand.
"Our parents will get worried if we're not home soon."
Haruka can't argue with that. As much as she'd like to sit and watch the night bleed into the ocean, she stands, taking Makoto's hand to support herself on the rocks. With light, careful steps, they travel back to the sand, grab their shoes, and head back home.
*
The first day of their second year of middle school, Haruka cuts her hair. Waves that usually just barely brush her lower back are clipped to her ears. It looks choppy and unrefined, and Makoto wonders how her bathroom floor must have looked covered in thick heaps of raven locks.
He notices her playing with it several times that day, fingernails with chipped polish running over her scalp, especially at the nape of her neck. He vaguely wonders how it must feel. He's braided it plenty of times and absolutely adores the feeling between his fingers. He wonders if, maybe, it feels similar to his own, which Haruka's pet and played with so many times, especially when Makoto can't fall asleep during their sleepovers.
They're eating lunch, three desks facing each other with a body at each - Makoto, Haruka, and Kisumi, the latter of whom had continuously wormed his way into their conversations. Makoto, who's too kind-hearted for his own good, had allowed him to return each and everyday with complaints that Asahi was inviting too many girls to sit with him.
Haruka's busying herself with snatching some of Kisumi's little octopus-shaped sausages, something they've had countless times at his house for snacks. Everytime she does, Kisumi complains, but he doesn't actually make an effort to stop her.
"Why'd you cut your hair, Haruka?" Kisumi asks, swatting her hand away from his bento. Haruka's nose wrinkles when he says, "it was so pretty."
"I wanted to," is the only reply she offers him, and it's full of bite. She snatches another one of his sausages, snapping off the head with her teeth. When Kisumi whines in complaint, Makoto smiles sheepishly.
"I think it looks nice. Did your mom get mad?"
"Yeah." She shrugs. "We're going to the salon this weekend to fix it, though."
"I guess that's better than nothing," he says, popping a piece of chicken into his mouth and chewing in deep thought.
Haruka still looks girlish - wide, blue eyes framed with thick lashes, small lips and nose, slightly rounded face - but her features hold a sharpness to them that Makoto had never noticed beyond her long hair. Even though she's developing like most other girls in their grade, forming a slight softness to the curves of her torso and legs, there's still an air of masculinity surrounding her. Maybe it stems from how strong Makoto knows she is - she once gave a boy a black eye in grade school for making fun of Makoto, something the brunet remembers quite often. He knows Haruka will protect him if he can't protect himself. It's been engraved into his mind since they were little kids and doesn't seem to be going away anytime soon. He wonders vaguely if maybe he'd be able to return the service to Haruka when the time comes for her to need it.
When lunch rolls to an end, Haruka's picked off the remainder of her nail polish. He knows Auntie Nanase will reprimand her for it, but that had never seemed to stop her. Her pale fingernails scrape through her hair once more before she caps off her bento and tucks it away. When she stands to help Makoto rearrange his desk, he notices small flecks of blue littered across her skirt.
*
It's their last year of middle school when Haruka is at his door, almost half an hour earlier than she should be, asking him to pack one of his old uniforms. He groggily agrees, not taking the situation into consideration as he strips out of his pajamas and pulls on the new gakuran his mother had gotten him to accompany his most recent growth spurt. When his head is mostly clear of thick sleep, he begins to question Haruka's request, especially as he's tucking his uniform from the prior year into his bag.
"What's this for?"
He doesn't get an answer. Haruka just leads him out of his own home, waving to Makoto's mother as they make their way past the kitchen.
Passing the gently rolling waves of the beach, they make their way to school. It's not until they get there that Makoto understands what Haruka intends to do with his old uniform. She easily plucks his bag from his lap, standing from the bench they're settled into, and makes a beeline for the restroom. She's gone for a while and Makoto sits in confusion as he waits for her to return.
He's awoken from his thoughts when a heavy bag lands back in his lap. When he looks up, his eyes go wide.
"H-Haru?"
She's standing there, eyebrows furrowed as she practically swims in Makoto's uniform. With such short hair - her grandmother had been regularly taking her to the salon to get it professionally cut - and such sharp features - her face had slimmed and she hadn't softened much more than she did their first year of middle school - she looks like a boy. Her chest, which many of the boys in their grade had teased her for, hadn't grown at all, leaving her with a flat form.
"So?" She asks, eyebrows furrowed.
It takes Makoto a little bit to understand just what he's up against. Haruka, small and slight in an old gakuran, with formerly-long hair chopped short. Haruka, who looked peeved whenever someone reprimanded "you aren't very ladylike, Haruka-san".
Makoto gives a small, nervous smile. "You look nice, Haru."
Haru's eyes light up, a bit wide and surprised, and Makoto feels his heart grow about six times bigger.
Haru changes back into his normal school uniform before they go home, but even as he's in the wrong clothing, things feel right to Makoto.
*
They're lying in Haru's bed, legs intertwined, Haru's cold feet digging into Makoto's calves. Just barely, Makoto can see the rise and fall of Haru's chest and shoulders as he breathes, watching the way his eyelashes just barely flutter against his cheekbones with every eye movement, every dreamy twitch. He's bathed in the sunrise, but still seems reluctant to wake, probably due to their late-night horror movie marathon. Against the light, Haru's bones smooth gracefully into each other, still maintaining a strengthened air about them, even if he hadn't started any sort of transition.
At first, Haru's chest was flat even as he slept, but after a strict reprimanding from Makoto (with motherly concern for Haru's safety), Haru would forego any restriction against his chest. The swell was hardly noticeable even without a binder (a thin, cropped, black article that just barely reached Haru's navel), but it was enough for Haru to worry about. Even if he wasn't overly self-conscious in the shape or size of his chest, he preferred not drawing attention to himself whenever possible, which meant minimizing the number of double-takes he received within a given day.
Sometimes, however, Makoto could convince him to leave the binder off all day and give himself a breather. Often, those days were spent with careful caresses and loving kisses that left Haru trembling in their wake.
Smiling, Makoto trails a hand up Haru's waist, earning a soft, sleepy shiver from the other boy. Haru's eyelashes flutter, eyebrows furrowing a tad, but he doesn't wake despite that. With a soft chuckle, Makoto presses his lips against Haru's forehead and wraps his arm around Haru's waist, holding him close and feigning sleep a little bit longer as the sunlight floods the room.