This was written for the wonderful Makoharu Festival being hosted on Tumblr. I can't post a link here, but the username is makoharufestival. The fics with the most notes at the end of the festival will receive a prize, so, if you enjoyed my story, I would love it you would like or reblog it on Tumblr (my Free! tumblr account is ishouldbeanimated). Please check out the other entries for the Makoharu Festival as well! :)

"Haru-channn, you're no fun!" Nagisa pouts as he flings himself at the blue-eyed boy. Haru, unshaken by the blonde's whining tone, apathetically continues chewing on a bite of mackerel before shooting Nagisa a disapproving glance. Makoto slowly packs away the remains of his lunch, silently spectating as Haru deals with the pink-eyed devil quickly encroaching on his personal space.

"We're not selling a swim club calendar. It would dishonor the water."

Nagisa drapes himself over Haru's shoulders, smashing his cheek against Haru's, before another long, pleading, "Haru-channnn" escapes his frowning mouth.

"Nagisa, whining is not beautiful. Besides, I think you are the only one interested in selling half-naked pictures of us to our classmates, and I highly doubt the school would approve of us raising funds for the club through such questionable means." Rei sighs and pushes his glasses up, lightly chastising Nagisa's actions as he eyes the blonde across from him. Suddenly Nagisa detaches from Haru and scoots back over to Rei, leaving no space between them as he presses his leg against Rei's thigh, his hand grasping Rei's knee. With one last begging glance, he turns to Makoto.

"Mako-chan?" Makoto can't help but smile at the puppy-dog eyes staring up at him, but he shakes his head.

"Sorry Nagisa, but I agree with Haru and Rei. I'm not sure I'd feel comfortable with our classmates having shirtless pictures of us in their rooms…"

The question is dropped as Nagisa cuts Makoto off to begin rambling about the most recent episode of some anime about basketball players. Makoto leans back against the sturdy wall behind him, sleepily taking in the just-right heat of the day, watching as Nagisa pulls Rei's hand into his, when he feels a familiar little pull in the center of his chest.

Makoto hates to admit it, but watching Nagisa be so openly affectionate with everyone he claims as a friend—always jumping on Rei or clutching at Haru—makes him the tiniest bit jealous. Of course, not seriously so, oh no, never. But a little bit. Sometimes.

Maybe it has to do with the fact that Nagisa and Rei, despite having known each other for a fraction of the time Makoto has known Haru, have a physical familiarity with one another that he has always craved with Haru. Makoto is not Nagisa and Haru is not Rei; he knows he shouldn't wish for a dynamic that could never exist between them or allow himself to be swept up in a lingering daydream that only makes his heart ache…

But when he sees the ease with which Nagisa reaches for Rei's hand in the most mundane of moments—when Nagisa grows bored of his book and reaches for Rei while studying on the grass, when Nagisa restlessly waits for Rei to finish explaining the physics behind an impossible basketball move from Nagisa's favorite anime, when Nagisa starts to drift to sleep against his boyfriend's shoulder while waiting on the train—Makoto can't help but wish.

He wishes he could pull Haru close when it's cold, instead of just offering him his glove or scarf. He wishes he could hold Haru against his chest the way he accidentally saw Rei pull Nagisa close when he was distraught over losing the butterfly charm Rei had given him for their anniversary, an embrace meant to comfort and convey an unwavering love. He wishes he could hold Haru's hand tightly in his whenever he wanted, not just when he pulls him from a body of water.

He should be satisfied with the bond between himself and Haru. He's privy to so much more of Haru than anyone else they have ever known; he knows that his best friend sees him differently than he sees Nagisa or Rin. But he's just a best friend with an asterisk, a special addendum that explains in footnotes that Makoto is different because he's Makoto and they have simply never been apart. That's all.

He only realizes he has been staring at Nagisa and Rei's interlaced fingers when the blonde jumpily pulls Rei to his feet, their lunch period over. He shakes the feelings he so rarely allows himself to dwell on and pushes himself up and away from the cool cement wall. As the roof door clatters shut behind Rei and Nagisa, Makoto allows himself a few more seconds to just look, to take in the beautiful boy he can't remember ever not loving. Haru remains sitting until Makoto has brushed off his uniform and extended a helping hand, his gaze lost as he watches the ocean in the distance.

"Makoto?"

The smooth timber of Haru's voice breaks his frozen gaze and he can feel the effort it takes to pull his lips into a small smile.

"Ready to head back to class, Haru?" Haru nods, accepting the outstretched hand, and stands, his questioning glance replaced by a passive, tepid light blue. Just on the edge of being caught, his secret close to being exposed, Makoto reels in his wants, reminds himself that just being friends with Haru is okay. It's going to be enough. It has to be.

Makoto's phone vibrates loudly against the keys in his pocket, snapping him out of the dazed memory. Within a second of the ringtone sounding, he eagerly digs for the green phone, hoping to catch it in time. He knows exactly who it is and he doesn't want to miss this call, miss another chance to hear the even-toned voice on the other end.

"Haru. How are you?" He rolls the pen absentmindedly across the desk, disregarding the beckoning request of his student's ignored papers as he tries to calm his rushing pulse. He stands and crosses to the window of his classroom, gazing down at the straggling students as they dart for the school gate, hoping to escape the pouring rain. He needs to distract himself, needs to move, and begins pacing through the rows of empty desks, a hushed, grey light settling throughout the room.

It's surprisingly insightful, teaching students the same age as when all of this started for him, the realization finally hitting him in high school that what he'd always felt for Haru was something far beyond just friendly. He thought he had hidden it so well when he was younger, but now, as he watches the boy sneaking glances at the person two seats ahead of him or that girl staring dreamily out the window, he knows his feelings must have been as obvious as a flashing neon sign in a dark alley.

Well, obvious to almost everyone.

Five years after graduating from high school, five years of absence from Iwatobi's safe embrace, Makoto had held his tongue and swallowed down his feelings, kept his secret securely locked away. After all, what was five more years tacked on to over a decade of secretly loving his best friend?

But part of him had known he wouldn't be able to last forever, known it was only a matter of time before he cracked, and just barely a week ago, it had finally happened.

Nagisa and Rei had just moved to Tokyo and insisted on celebrating in a way tailored to Nagisa's personal preferences, leaving Makoto's usually quiet Saturday night to drown in copious amounts of alcohol and blaringly loud music.

As Nagisa pushes them through the masses of people, Makoto can't help but laugh as Haru grimaces at the blonde, his eyes torn between glaring at Nagisa and appraising every possible exit. Makoto slides into a booth beside his still small, but slightly taller, bubbly blonde friend, who doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around Rei's and Makoto's own broad shoulders. Haru continues to silently grimace as he pushes into the booth against Makoto and Makoto's attention instantly shifts to the press of Haru's thigh against his own. The circular booth is a tight fit for the four of them—he's sure that it's the only reason Haru is seated so close to him—but a rush of heat surges through him, its source the place where their covered legs touch.

"Isn't this place great?! I brought Rei-chan here when we came to look at apartments and he loved it, didn't you Rei-chan?" Nagisa's smile turns mischievous, his pink eyes flashing as a blush rapidly colors Rei's face. Makoto laughs lightly and turns his gaze away, knowing there's probably a hidden, more personal reason as to why Rei enjoyed their last outing that he doesn't want to hear about. He glances around the club, the air heavy with the heat of too many people, the darkness of the club peppered with colorful, flashing lights, but his eyes settle on Haru sipping some blue liquored drink that Nagisa had insisted on ordering him.

He watches momentarily as Haru's lips slide over the rim before closing just slightly, the blue liquid gliding against the glass, tipping toward his mouth before he swallows, and all Makoto can think of is what it would feel like to have his lips on his skin. He wonders if the drink, the same light blue of the popsicles they used to share, would taste just as sweet (and if it would taste even sweeter from Haru's lips). Haru sets the glass down and his eyes move to meet Makoto's, but Makoto quickly pulls his gaze away, shifts his attention to Rei and Nagisa, before clutching his own drink and taking a large gulp of it.

This was not a good idea.

He should make up an excuse to leave. He should definitely stop drinking. He needs to get a grip on himself, regain his slipping composure. Instead, Makoto finds himself drinking more of the heavily liquored concoctions Nagisa keeps ordering for him and letting his leg press just a bit more against Haru's.

"Mako-chan, come dance with meeee." Makoto laughs as Nagisa consumes more of his own strawberry drink, the alcohol only magnifying his boundless energy, and watches as Rei sputters at Nagisa's opting for a different dance partner. A slightly tipsy Rei pulls Nagisa onto the floor, and Makoto is left alone with Haru, who is still pressing against him, still sipping that damn drink, and staring at Makoto more than he remembers being normal, even for them. With Nagisa and Rei gone, a little voice in his head tells him he could move away, slide further into the booth and give Haru his space, but the louder voice tells him to stay exactly where he is.

Makoto turns slightly, angling toward Haru's ear, and his chest presses against Haru's arm, filling him with more of that wonderful heat he felt earlier.

"Having fun, Haru-chan?" It doesn't matter how old they get, Makoto will never stop calling Haru by his nickname. Haru has given up on chastising him, but the pointed glare he shoots Makoto still makes him laugh. Makoto smiles when Haru doesn't pull away from their new-found closeness, the blue in his eyes deepening.

"I'd rather be swimming." Makoto smiles at the expected response, his head tilting slightly more toward Haru than he intends, and he starts wondering how much alcohol he has actually consumed.

"Well, I think you've made Nagisa very happy in coming to Tokyo this weekend…" He doesn't say how happy he is to see him again, how much he missed him these past few months. That would be crossing a line, right? His drunk-ish self nods in agreement in his head, so he holds his tongue.

Haru doesn't respond before eying his empty glass. He slides out of the booth and Makoto's leg suddenly feels much colder. "I'm going to go get more of this," his hand playing with the empty glass, before he sets the glass down and walks back to the bar.

Makoto's eyes follow Haru as he crosses into the crowd, quickly losing him in the throng of people. He's seen Haru wear this exact outfit multiple times before—dark jeans and a purplish-grey, fitted v-neck t-shirt—but for some reason, the way his shirt hugs tightly across his shoulders and the way his jeans hang off of his hips in just the right way are killing him, making his heart beat quickly in his chest.

He needs to distract himself, think non-Haru related thoughts, so he scans the crowd for Nagisa and Rei. When he finally spots them, he notes that the pair has gravitated closer to the speakers, covered by shifting shadows. Nagisa's arms wrap around Rei's neck and he pulls Rei down for a long, slow, open-mouthed kiss, and the sight forces Makoto's gaze away, his thoughts immediately turning to Haru and what it would be like to have him pressed tightly against him, to let his hand slide its way up his shirt, to steal heated kisses from those perfect lips.

Haru…

Maybe it's the pressure built up from years of these feelings finally breaking or maybe it's the alcohol thrumming through him or maybe it's just the tiny bit of jealously he still feels from watching Rei and Nagisa, but he pushes himself out of the booth and makes his way to the bar.

He finds Haru being accosted by some tall, well-built guy that vaguely reminds him of Mikoshiba with silvery-blue hair and violet eyes. Makoto can tell with one look at Haru that he isn't interested and he hesitates to interrupt what seems like a harmless, futile endeavor, until the guy grasps Haru's wrist and something surges through him, further fueling whatever has been driving him to just lay everything out in the open tonight.

Suddenly he's pulling at the hand grasping Haru's wrist, two pairs of eyes fully alerted to his presence.

"He's not interested. So if you wouldn't mind letting go of him, I'm sure we'd both appreciate it." Makoto's voice is lower than his usually cheery, pleasant tone, and he can't remember the last time this viciously protective, somewhat possessive side of him came out. The man lets go, holds his hands up as if to excuse his actions, and mutters out an apology of sorts as he turns away from them.

"Are you alright, Haru?" He can hear the tad bit of lingering anger and an overwhelming amount of concern come across in his tone as Haru appraises his wrist, almost as if the man's unwanted grasp had burned him.

"I'm fine Makoto, thank you." Haru's blue eyes meet his, and he's struck by the torrent of emotions swirling in his gaze. He recognizes a bit of panic and dying out annoyance, but something else too…

Makoto's mouth tightens in a line and nods, his pulse quickening under Haru's gaze. He feels the weight of something unspoken hanging between them, something that has been dying to break to the surface and it is only then that Makoto realizes that Haru is clutching his other hand in his own.

"Let's go."

Makoto nods as he cuts through the crowd, distractedly shoots Nagisa a text, and guides Haru toward the exit, never once letting go of his hand.

Drunken couples pass them, loudly adding their laughs and gleeful shrieks to the night as they slowly make their way back to Makoto's apartment. His grip on Haru's hand has weakened, offering him the chance to let go, the chance to stop anything more from moving forward, but Haru's fingers remain clasped around his own.

Tonight. He has to tell Haru tonight.

He lets go of Haru's hand to open the door to his apartment and stands frozen in place as Haru crosses the short distance to the futon he'd left out from the night before, grabbing the shirt he'd borrowed from Makoto that he'd haphazardly thrown there that morning.

He hadn't seen Haru in almost six months, the demands of his new job hindering his ability to justify the lengthy trek back to Iwatobi, regardless of how badly he wanted to make a quick trip home back seem rational. But now, Haru was here, practically just inches away from him, and he couldn't let this moment slip away.

"I love you, Haru."

The words rush past the filter of his lips, whispered in the darkness of his small apartment, and Haru's eyes lock with his. He could wait for Haru to respond, but the simultaneous twisting of panic and some strange form of relief in his stomach usher more words from his mouth.

"I love you. I can't remember not loving you and every second I'm with you makes me love you more. I'm sorry for telling you this, but… I've tried to get over you, I really have, and…I don't think I can."

For the first time in his life, Makoto can't read Haru's expression, can't predict what Haru might say or do, and it's enough to make his throat dry, his chest tight, his hands cold. He'd never intended to share his feelings with Haru, but here they were, trapped in an untested tension, Makoto's one and only secret finally hanging heavily in the air between them.

Say something. Anything. Just. Something. Please.

Silence.

Indecipherable blue flick away from him before Haru crosses to the bathroom to get ready for bed, as if nothing has been said, and Makoto begins to worry that maybe he had misinterpreted all those small moments tonight that had pushed him to confess, a feeling of dread slowly creeping up on him.

An icy rush replaces the nervous warmth in his veins, his eyes unable to look away from the back of the man before him, grasping at each second of this moment, etching every detail into his memory in case it's the last time he sees him. He knew this might happen, but the reality of Haru's back turned to him causes a worse pain than he has ever experienced, an instantaneous, all-consuming loneliness clutching at his chest, and for a second, Makoto wonders if he can take the words back, pretend he never spilled his treacherous secret to the person that gives his life meaning.

"I understand if you… I don't expect anything in return. But I needed you to know." A mechanical voice sounds overhead, puncturing the anxious atmosphere, and it takes a second for Makoto to realize it's him, forcing out words he never wanted to say in the face of his worst nightmare.

"Thank you, Makoto." The door clicks shut behind him and Makoto watches, his body rigid with fear and loss and too many things for him to comprehend in this singular moment. He crosses quietly to his room, closes the door, and waits until he is sure Haru is asleep before crossing to his bathroom. He can't quite look at his reflection, his eyes don't look the same, and he tries to fight the emptiness gripping his chest, stealing the air from his lungs, forcing the hope for something more from his mind.

He hardly sleeps, but when he wakes, the futon has been neatly put away, Makoto's shirt sits folded on the table, a note scrawled out in Haru's handwriting lying on top.

"I appreciate you for always staying by my side. Thank you. I'm sorry."

Six days. Six days of emptiness, six days of just passably existing, six days of wondering if that truly was the last time he'd ever see or speak to Haru. Six days, until this call.

Usually, it is Makoto who calls and fills the quiet, accepting every hum or quick comment from the receiving end without question. Haru had grown a bit more talkative since Makoto had moved to the edge of Tokyo to teach, but that was just the natural transition for their relationship. Distance has stolen the easy moments of quiet, unspoken conversations conveyed through glances; words had become necessary. Now, instead of even the few words he has grown accustomed to hearing, he meets nothing but silence once more.

"Haru, are you…driving?" He hears what sounds like the rush of cars under Haru's particularly noticeable silence, before the grumbling of thunder pulls his attention to the window. The weather had been horrible for the past six days; an inescapable cold, wet, greyness covering everything in sight, a perfect companion to Makoto's agony.

"No, but I'm in the city."

"Oh. That's… that's great." Makoto's heart jumps in his chest and he stops pacing, momentarily frozen in his tracks. Maybe Haru could just pretend nothing had happened. Maybe they could continue just being friends. Maybe…

"Makoto?" He hadn't realized he had fallen silent, a thousand thoughts rushing through his head, a tiny trace of something resembling hope blossoming in his chest, his stomach flipping, the mantra he'd been telling himself since high school echoing in his head—a friendship with Haru could be enough for him, of course it could be…

"Ah, yes, Haru?"

"Are you free?"

"Yes, I… my schedule is clear this weekend, so just let me know when meeting up would work best for you." He's sure he sounds stilted and formal compared to his usual tone, but he's swimming in open water, no sense of direction to keep him from hopelessly flailing.

"How about now?"

"Now?"

The door to his classroom opens quietly, but the sudden sound catches his attention and he knocks over a chair in his rush to face the door.

"Now."

He takes in the sight of the soaked man in front of him, the button-down clinging to his frame, the sleeves rolled up at his elbows, the tail ends of his shirt a few movements away from escaping the belt meant to restrain them.

"Haru, what are you-" Haru shakes the water from his hair, a small action that incites a rush of memories, the hundreds of times Makoto had watched him perform the exact same action when rising from a liquid embrace adding to the butterflies in his stomach. Makoto can read this Haru, the shake of his head indicating for Makoto to stay silent, and knows that Haru, who so heavily relies on actions to speak for him, is seconds away from verbally expressing what he feels he cannot simply show. But what strikes him most is the piercing gaze that meets his own, the blue in which he has spent years learning to swim—always just managing to stay afloat—pulling him under instantaneously like a current he can't escape.

"I—I appreciate—" Haru's hands clench at his side, his frustration at stumbling over what he needs to say evident. "Last week, I panicked. I don't want to be left with nothing if we don't work. I didn't think I was willing to risk losing you, but I want to try if it means I can always be with Makoto. I want this. I want you. I just... I needed..."

A push forward, the sound of wet steps, a sweeping vision of blue swallowing him whole, and the pressure of cool, soft lips that taste like rain against his own. A moment of panic, of questioning insecurity, grips him before Makoto feels a warmth he has missed since Haru's departure returning to his chest, how Haru's hands shake slightly against his skin despite their hold on the back of his head, his fingers tangling in his olive hair.

The dripping fabric of Haru's shirt is cool under his fingertips as his hands trace down his back; he pulls him closer, feeling the press of Haru's wet chest against his own. The pressure grows, the gentle heat between them flames, and Makoto matches each gasping, desperate kiss with his own need. Like the ebb and flow of the tide, surging forward before gently withdrawing, his lips leave Haru's slowly, breathlessly, and he rests his forehead against Haru's. The ease between them has returned, and Makoto can't help but smile in its wake.

"You know, you could have waited to find me until it stopped raining. You'll get sick, drenched like this."

"I'm not going to get sick," Haru says in his characteristically pouty, stubborn, tone. Makoto laughs openly at that, and Haru shifts in his embrace, his arms wrapping around Makoto's back, his head turned away and resting against Makoto's chest.

"Even if you do, I'll take care of you." He speaks barely above a whisper, the words ruffling Haru's hair, before he presses a soft kiss to the wet raven locks.

A comfortable quiet falls over them, the soft patter of the now light rain against the window filling the room. It seems as though nothing has changed, although the feel of Haru pressed firmly against his chest serves as a clear, wonderful, reminder that Makoto isn't just a friend to Haru anymore. The years of hiding—of praying that time would simply make it easier for him to live with the love he couldn't get over, of feeling the hope that maybe Haru loved him back slip away with every passing day of secrecy—were finally over. As he rests his head against Haru's, he watches as the clouds begin to clear, the first and last rays of the day's light slowly breaking through the grey, before tentatively speaking, not wishing to disrupt to calm surrounding them.

"You won't lose me, Haru. I have loved you for as long as I can remember knowing you. I can't see that ever changing." Makoto doesn't expect a reply, but he can tell he's made Haru blush by the way he angles in against his chest and his hands grasp Makoto's shirt a tiny bit tighter. Makoto closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, memorizing this moment, joy rushing through him at the thought of finally, truly, being able to love Haru.

"I love you too, Makoto."

Makoto's eyes open at the whispered words and he smiles as he slowly pulls back to see a small, matching smile upon Haru's lips. His hand moves to brush through Haru's hair before he lightly presses a kiss to his lips once more, the promise of more, of years kissing Haru, of decades holding Haru close, filling him with warmth.