Disclaimer: I own nothin'

Pairings/Warnings: SouMako, AU, get-together, sexual content, awkward romance, light angst

A/N: Another fic I'm transferring from AO3. I am still in the process of writing this one...

Chapter One

He was new to Tokyo. Makoto was a small town boy from a place where the main economy was fishing and he had come to Tokyo to go to university, to study for his degree to teach as he dreamed of doing since his childhood. As an older brother to twins, he'd thought he had enough experiences of dealing with kids to find a teaching course a breeze but of course, everything was harder than he expected.

Including Tokyo itself. His life was now a rush of getting up early enough to get the train to get another train to get to his university for intense classes about child development and education techniques and evaluating their usefulness. His classes were intense but as was his need for a part-time job – his temporary bar job in a karaoke place hardly what he wanted to be doing with his life. He would've preferred to devote those hours to reading the great big pile of books that had accumulated on his bedside floor but his parents could only afford so much so Makoto had to put on tight black trousers, a tight white shirt, a vest and a tie every few days to earn enough money to keep him fed and housed.

So far Tokyo was hard. He was homesick and alone. He'd made a few acquaintances – his new roommate Haru wasn't bad even though seemed to have a ridiculous obsession with baths, and a few of the people he worked with were okay – but Makoto felt like he was drowning in the new city, in his new life, barely paddling enough to keep his head above the surface.

He told his mother everything was fine – his cheery updates hiding the great difficulties he was experiencing. Maybe his mother saw through his overly happy texts – the use of too many exclamations and smiley faces maybe betraying Makoto's actual mood – as he had received a few care packages from home. Homemade cakes and pictures drawn by the twins, small amounts of spare money for "treats" and some new clothes. They did improve his mood for a brief spell but then he'd realise he missed home far too much and sit on his bed in his tiny room, staring at the wall of pictures he'd put up of his friends and family from Iwatobi as he attempted to not feel too damn depressed.

Tokyo was intimidating for a boy from Iwatobi. The high rise buildings. The busy streets. Constant traffic and the confusing underground metro system. It had taken him some time to get used to it and now he was getting there. Still not completely comfortable with the trains that whistled passed at an impossible speed but he at least knew which way to go. And how to get to all the important stops.

He was feeling like he was starting to keep his head above the surface. Just. But just was enough.

Makoto was travelling to university, rushing as he always seemed to do. He'd walked in on his roommate in the bath when he'd tried to shower, Haru grumpily trudging out when he realised Makoto wanted to use the room. The delay wasn't long but Makoto had already slept through one of his alarms, glad that he had the foresight to set two after his late shift at the karaoke club so he'd already been running somewhat late. And somewhat late turned into very late when he struggled to find a clean shirt, opting for a white v-neck tee that he'd worn earlier in the week that didn't seem too bad when he lifted it to his nose and then a checked shirt over the top of that. Then it was finding his glasses that delayed him, unable to find them among his uniform from last night but then finally seeing them among his books. He'd had to grab his bag without checking he had everything needed inside it as he rushed out of the shared apartment, not bothering with food, planning to pick something up at a coffee place either at the station or on the way there or to class. Whatever, he was running seriously late.

As he rushed his way to the station, Makoto seemed to encounter every slow moving pedestrian, every stop light and every damn thing that could be in his way until he was able to descend the stairs and make his way to the underground station. He, thankfully, had his wallet on him, stuffed into his jeans pocket and he used his card to enter the station, it beeping as it allowed him entry and took credit from his account. An account that was probably running low. He didn't think on that as he rushed to the platform, running fast down the stairs and realising he'd probably already missed one of his usual trains. That was okay as it meant the next one would only be another six or seven minutes but as he arrived and checked the board, Makoto was annoyed and anxious at the further delay.

He was strapped for money so he couldn't live near to the campus, he had to live somewhere more affordable and Makoto dreamed of one day being so near he could roll out of bed and be in lectures. He could not. Damn.

He rocked back and forth on his heels impatiently as he waited a six minutes that seemed to take forever, glancing along the platform to see the other people waiting. There were the commuters, dressed in suits, the school kids in uniforms and then students like himself dressed more casually. When he got his earlier train, Makoto tended to see the same people and they often nodded and waved and smiled at one another briefly on the platform before they ignored each other in the carriage.

But Makoto didn't recognise anyone and saw all new faces so he checked his phone for any messages – seeing a reminder from his mother to eat breakfast as if she knew he hadn't – and then shoved it back in his pocket as he looked at some advertising posters for some new anime.

He was wondering why this character had unrealistically coloured hair when he turned slightly and saw someone arrive at the platform, their own walk showing nothing of Makoto's ridiculous rush. Makoto tried not to stare and instead walked towards the free copies of Tracks – the small newspaper that they gave away at stations, the news bite-sized and generally pretty pointless but something to do apart from staring at said guy. But even with the newspaper in front of his eyes, Makoto kept peeking to look at him.

Tall. Which was something for Makoto. He'd spent his entire teenage life being the tall one – never having met anyone his own age in Iwatobi of a similar height. It had its advantages – he'd been a good swimmer with a few medals and trophies but it had been kinda irritating to be the tallest student in the school as he'd never been able to hide. This guy was taller. Which was rare for Makoto.

And then he had dark hair, that he could tell, even though it was hidden by a black hoodie pulled over his head. The rest of his clothes were dark, his skinny jeans grey and tight fitting, tapering down to chunky sneakers that looked like they cost more than Makoto's entire wardrobe of clothes. He let his eyes wander back up to the tight fitting t-shirt underneath the hoodie, seeing a faded grey, and then the muscles through that t-shirt. And then he dragged his eyes back to the guys face like he should. That was his mistake. As he was wearing sunglasses over his eyes but that didn't obscure the strong jawline and the cheekbones to die for. He looked like he could model.

Stop staring, he scolded himself mentally as really, Makoto was looking far too hard at the hot guy. He noticed his large grey and black headphones and when he reached for something in his bag, he even saw the hint of tattoos on his arms that made Makoto stare again.

But then the train arrived, the whistling wind being a pre-warning as it rushed through and halted with a screech, Makoto watching as the hot guy got on, him standing stupidly for a moment before he realised he should too otherwise he would be extra late for his classes.

Makoto got on with the other commuters, jostled by a few in their rush and he walked over to stand by the door, holding onto the pole rather than taking a seat. If he was stood least he could hop off quickly. And as he stood looking and the door swished closer he noticed that just a few feet away was the hot guy with sneakers and headphones. And tattoos. And sunglasses. But now he'd removed those sunglasses as he leaned against the doors, defying the "don't lean against" them rule and the sign with red letters. Instead, he was stood incredibly relaxed against them, his phone in his hand as he changed his music, Makoto guessed, and Makoto now could see his full face without the irritating sunglasses. And they were blue. A blue that was kinda like crystal clear oceans and Makoto almost hit himself for his cheesy thoughts. He was not a character in a cheesy anime and he should not be thinking like that. But he was.

Instead of staring some more, Makoto raised the issue of Tracks, flicking through it and trying to pay attention as the guy stood looking effortlessly sexy. Makoto didn't do that – hell Makoto couldn't do that. He'd had an on and off boyfriend in Iwatobi and it had always been awkward and even when he was told he was good-looking… well, Makoto never believed it. He was kinda average even when he tried to be more.

The rest of the journey was alternated between Makoto trying to appear like he was reading and watching the guy. Soon he gave up on reading and just looked around the carriage, jamming the issue in his bag. He kept trying to pick on something else to look at – the safety signs, the other people – counting how many people wore mismatched socks but somehow he always drifted back to the hot guy.

He noticed he'd rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie and he saw waves and that made Makoto swallow as the tattoos were spiralling in blacks and blues, unable to see more even though they hinted that there was. More to the tattoos. More to the guy. And when Makoto looked up this time, hot guy was smiling at him.

Shit. Busted.

He was smiling a small smile – a quirk of lips but it made his eyes sparkle bright blue and Makoto tried not to say something dumb or stupid or blush or stutter but he did smile back. A small awkward smile, a tilt of his head and a crinkle in the corner of his eyes.

The smile was his entry, his moment, and Makoto could ask his name or something but instead the doors to the train opened behind the guy and he backed off to the platform without looking, effortlessly cool and sexy again. It wasn't Makoto's stop and so all he could do was watch as the guy winked and gave him a smile as the doors closed again, leaving Makoto with his heart beating too fast and his palms sweaty. And with the thought that he would never ever see the guy again. Damn.

He tried to calm down the rest of the journey, tried to regain some equilibrium and remember that he was going to be sat studying child psychology very shortly but his heart was still pounding when he got to his stop and made his way to the university and his lecture. He supposed his heart was beating too fast due to the running but mainly it was due to the hot guy. Damn, as his old boyfriend would say, he needed to get laid.

When he arrived, with one minute to spare, at his lecture, Makoto sidled into the first available seat and got out his books with fumbling fingers, a few of his fellow students looking at him in his flustered state as he smoothed his sweaty hair back and tried to take deep breaths. As he sorted through the books, Makoto spotted the issue of Tracks and it was open to one page. One page Makoto hadn't thought about.

Rush Hour Crush.

Suddenly, he had an idea. As all he had to do was submit something about the hot guy to Tracks and maybe, just maybe the hot guy would answer.

Makoto picked up a pen and worried it between his teeth as he barely listened to the lecture. And instead of writing notes, he wrote the words - tall, dark and tattooed.