This is a re-upload from Archive of Our Own where I am most active. I made the decision to upload all my fanfiction not involving OCs here. That being said, I hope you can enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed writing it.
He's back there again. The same people surround him. They whisper the same thing, act the same way, and leave him to suffer the same way. He opens his eyes in the same way, and sees the same pair of curious green emeralds staring back at him in fascination.
It's the same old routine—but it leaves him breathless each and every time.
He pulls himself to his knees, his voice shaky as he adjusts himself to the sight of the beach at nighttime. It holds a sort of ethereal beauty, but no matter how many times he finds himself back there, it's never the same. The irony evades him as he frantically looks around for the starry-eyed person who had been the only one to stay with him. Or perhaps they had never seen his collapse—because if they did, they'd have disappeared, just like the others.
He sheds his ragged clothes, dark with age and smelling strongly of the fish he struggles to catch-and dives into the icy cold of the ocean. His muscles unfurl, unconstrict, and loosen. He closes his eyes and lets the temperature chill him to his core, but it cannot wrap around and cool the lava-like sensation of the stranger he so wishes to see. From his peripherals, he spots a sliver of pale skin. It glows in sharp contrast to the moonlit water. He turns, but sees nothing—no one. He hears the splash and turns again, but they evade him.
He closes his eyes, and surfaces. Just being in the water comforts him, it shields him in its security, it bathes him in its safety. The chilly air of night caresses his skin, inviting a layer of gooseflesh to mar his arms and legs. He slinks over with paced steps to the flat slab of rock worn down with the rush of the tides that so desperately seemed to want to take out his town and encase it in its embrace. A part of him wishes it would, but a part of him knows it's wrong to think so.
The thought slips from his mind when he looks at the moon. It is closer than it has ever seemed, reflecting on the surface of the water, casting the ocean in a starry, surreal state. He cups his hands around the moon, as if able to touch the very thing that so intrigues him. He parts his fingers, and his heart gives a jolt at the sight of the stranger he desired to meet again.
He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out–or rather, nothing has the strength to. They tilt their head to the side, giving off an air of childlike curiosity. They say nothing, but words are exchanged through their eyes. They beckon him forward with just their index finger, but he does not move. He cannot move, lest he meet a tragic demise.
The man in the water sits upon the edge of the sand, raking their long fingers through their wet locks. It appears black in the night, but he knows it is not the case. His eyes are trained on his every move, unwilling to look away, yet inclined to get away. Their eyes brighten, resembling the sunny glow set on a pair of glimmering peridots. The man opens his mouth and he laughs, but Haru sees no genuine reason. It travels to the very depths of his core.
He puts a hand to his chest, but cannot bring himself to run. Fear instinctively grips at his throat when the man smiles. "Haru," He whispers, his voice carrying forward like the whispering wind in the dead of night, the rustles of the leaves as they collide with other trees.
There is one man, but Haru hears many. He hears the love in his voice, he hears the affection and the desire—but he knows it is not true. The man chuckles, as though he had expected such a reaction from Haru, who gazes at the moon, persuading himself to battle through his appetite and ask "Who-?" are you? The phrase is unfinished and foreign on his tongue. As though he had known them for as long as time. As though the hardships Haru experiences each day were far, far away. He frowns.
They smile in turn. His name is called again, quieter and more playful. Haru curls his arms around his own body, in hopes of making himself smaller. He wishes desperately for the man in the water to not look at him in his most fragile state. He feels like a wine glass teetering on the edge of a shelf, he is unstable, he is scared–but he is also fascinated by the prospect of surrender. What would happen, should he release and let gravity take its course? What would happen, should he close his eyes and just fall?
He does not know he is being embraced until he is. The stranger has their arms around him, droplets of water from their skin merging, their flesh burn together–but he does not pull away. For a long time, Haru is silent. He focuses–not on his state of being, not on his hunger, not on the churning in the pit of his stomach–but instead, on breathing.
Slowly, they begin to sync together, inhaling and exhaling with a timely pace, together. Haru's hands loosen from around his own body, and are instantaneously claimed by the man's fingers, as they intertwine with feels himself slipping, just off the edge of the shelf he had wished to find security in. But safety was this man, and he was his new sanctuary.
Haru finds his voice, however weak, however wavering, "Who are you?" He knows the question is futile, because there is one far more frightening on the tip of his tongue.
"What are you?"
The man's rich, green eyes search him for a moment, calculating, wondering, debating if he should reveal all. Haru lets the last of his aggression fade away. He adds a 'please'.
"Makoto." He whispers, as though the name was forbidden fruit taken from the garden of Eden, by no man's would atone for taking. Haru repeats his name, challenging his gaze. Without a word, Haru repeats the question.
Makoto, as he claims to be called, brings Haru's hands to his lips. He rubs the pads of his thumbs over Haru's knuckles, and brings his lips to them gently. He says nothing. No words are needed to convey both their thoughts. Haru loses the breath lodged in his throat. He closes his eyes and screams for help–but nothing leaves his lips. He is lost, captivated by the depths of Makoto's affection for him. But it isn't real. He tells himself it can't be real.
Haru looks back up at the moon, evading Makoto, evading his responsibilities. He sees the light the moon brings, he feels the warmth of Makoto's skin, and he wants more than just this affection. He wants to disappear, he wants to get away the cold, selfish world he'd been cast into and left for dead. He wants a future that does not involve searching for scraps of food in vain.
"Haru," Makoto whispers against his fingers, "Why do you cry?" It isn't until Makoto brings it to his attention does Haru recognize that there is indeed a tear streaking down his cheek. He shakes his head and leaves it, in favor of Makoto's warmth. Makoto does not let Haru off so easily. He moves his hand, gently laying it on Haru's cheek. Haru longs to feel more affection than just this. He wants all that Makoto can offer him, but he knows he can give Makoto nothing in return.
"Tell me, Haru," Makoto murmurs, "What ails you?" His whispery voice remains steady, even as the midnight air sets in around them. Haru wishes to tell him all. He wants to cry, he wants to scream–and he wants to get away from misery. But, that would make him just as selfish as the rest of the world.
Makoto exhales and Haru feels his warm breath against his nose. "Haru, you shouldn't have to live like this." He does not find Makoto's repetition of his name terrifying, but rather comforting. "You can make it better."
"How?" He asks, eyebrows drawing together in surprise. All his life, he had accepted his need to survive and not thrive, as his entire existence. He had not a penny to his name, and he accepted that, but...
Makoto draws away, and Haru has to blatantly fight the urges that plague him to bring him back into his arms. Haru takes notice of the wispy, dark tail that formed from the base of Makoto's hips. It does not surprise him, because he knows Makoto was never human. Such a man, someone who cared, could never be a treacherous human. His tail arches and meets the shallow water as he submerges himself within its cold. Haru follows with his eyes, until he can't anymore and loses sight of the fish-like appendage beneath the ripples of the ocean.
"You can go where you are wanted." Makoto tells him. His tail makes another splash. "You can come to the sea, where we accept you, where we desire your presence—and where you are loved." He smiles, "Come with me, Haru."
Haru stands, his toes delving into the sand. It's cold, but not enough to make him uncomfortable. Would it not be better to join Makoto, where he is... wanted? Would it not be better if he left, for the folk who would leave him for dead anytime? Would it not be better to go somewhere, anywhere, else?
Makoto waits patiently for Haru to make his decision. His eyes, alight with anticipation watch him carefully–but he begins to sing, quietly, hauntingly. It is unlike anything Haru has ever heard before. More goosebumps layer his arms as he listens, his mind drawing blanks as to what his decision should have been.
Makoto's eerie singing grows louder, reaching its crescendo as the moon seems to grow brighter and brighter. Makoto holds out his hand, not breaking his strange melody for a moment. His eyes tell him 'come with me'. Haru hears it in is head, echoing, persuading. It bounces around in his mind.
He closes his eyes and he is back in his home. His hunger is excruciating, he is woozy and on the brink of consciousness. He looks at his tattered clothing in the shards of glass when it shatters to the ground and wonders why.
Why him?
He opens his eyes, and the beach is no longer the same.
Everything is bathed in a shade of brilliant white. His skin appears dark but Makoto's is radiant. Makoto offers him an encouraging smile, and his singing draws to a decrescendo, before it fades out completely. Silence falls between them both.
The poor man of the land and the rich man of the sea. Haru sees nothing but the moon, reflected off the water. He longs to cup the water-bound stars, control his own destiny, become his own person. His longing for an enviable life brings him to his peak and—
...
...
He takes Makoto's hand.
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