The first time he says it, he dresses it in different words.
Not just because he's been scared all this time to give a proper name to the feelings he's harboured throughout the years, and not because he isn't aware of what they are either. He knows he had carelessly let them grow into his very soul like the roots of a tree, acutely felt them digging into his chest with every breath Haru effortlessly stole away from him. He's too afraid to look up at this tree canopy now though, worries he might not see the particular flowers he's hoping to find on the branches.
He can't say it. Not yet, at least, he tells himself. Not yet. Because now is not the time, nor the place. Now is reserved for Haru, and Haru alone.
I can wait, he tells himself. After all, he's already waited so long he's forgotten what the absence of longing feels like. Waiting more wouldn't make a difference - in fact, maybe he'd appreciate it more. Maybe Haru would, too (especially since they're here now because the speed of the world around him was too much for Haru to keep up with on his own in the first place).
By comparison, he's always wanted more, more, more ; he reached for it, chased it with a certain kind of desperation, ambition and pride mixed into a dangerous concoction of want and need - one almost indistinguishable from the other. It's never been anything but the pursuit and the thrill of the chase. But he's wiser now and knows that his constant hunger had a price - and that he wasn't the only one who had to pay it...
So when he opens his mouth, his lips shape the words in a way that makes even him feel unmoored, and not just Haru - who looks surprised and confused in equal measure. Perhaps he too knows already that there's no going back from this point on, and that some things can't be unsaid or unheard.
"I've always... admired you."
It feels almost easy. Almost. But not quite. It's not what he wants to say, but it's as close as he can make it, for now. He feels lighter all the same, a soft relief where previously there has only been heaviness.
He'll wait a little longer, he decides. Nurture this unwieldy secret that's too big to hold alone, and give it away piece by piece, in small, careful instalments, never more than Haru is willing to take from him (after all, he knows better than anyone else how heavy his heart can be to carry).
He smiles softly, watches Haru look at him with an expression that's equal parts confused and hopeful at the same time...
...And suddenly he isn't sure anymore what he's been worrying about all along.
The pressure in his chest eases, the roots less uncomfortable and more comforting at the same time, lighter than before, cradling his fragile heart rather than constricting it, and full of gentle certainty that he and Haru will figure it out, together, in time.
He looks up.
... They've somehow always managed to make the sakura trees bloom out of season.