AN: I was attacked by this idea when I was planning to write something else. I opened Microsoft Word to write plotfic or something like it and vomited feelings into it instead. Have a very short thing.
Title from Imogen Heap's "Sleep" - put it on with a rainy mood background to get what I was listening to when writing.
Haru slides out of sleep slowly, blinking: it's still dark outside. His eyes are sticky. Everything is sticky – it's too hot, and even he isn't immune to sweat. He feels half suffocated.
Of course, that might have something to do with the large body wrapped around his.
He is breathing into one of Makoto's arms. Makoto isn't immune to sweat either, and the combination has resulted – it would seem – in the two of them both lying there overheated and smelling decidedly pungent, pressed skin to skin.
Everything is dark, and warm, and Makoto. Especially everything is Makoto. Outside, it's raining, at last. It's been unbearably humid for the past four days, with no relief except the pool. The rain is heavy, and Haru hears, far off, the distant crash-echo of thunder.
"Mmf," he groans into Makoto's shoulder, half thinking about getting up to go and look at the rain.
"Mmm," Makoto sighs, into his neck. "Go back t'sleep, Haru…"
Haru really does think about getting out of bed – it would be lovely, to walk over to the veranda and just watch the rain, let it cool his skin, let the scent clear out his head – but everything is warm, and Makoto, and he doesn't want to leave.
"Mmm," he replies, instead, and folds himself back into Makoto's embrace, eyes slipping shut.