It was not the first time Haru found the hallway light glowing from behind the window screens.
It was definitely not the first time Haru arrived home from an early-hours swim to find Makoto leaning against the wall and his breath soothing as life pulled air in and out of his lungs. Push and pulled, oxygen and carbon dioxide, a pair as vital as Makoto and Haru themselves.
It was, however, the first time in a long time. The last time Haru could bring a similar memory to mind? Junior high. A summer night where sweat and the echo of cicadas clung to his skin, hair damp from his nighttime excursion in a lake they visited together. Makoto had still smelled like fish and freshwater then, despite the shower. Haru himself had smelled like saltwater, although the pool's chlorine clung to his skin at that moment.
But underneath the chlorine? Saltwater. Sea salt and the ocean's breeze passing through Iwatobi, and by extension, through him.
He still smelled like saltwater. And that aroma never truly left him, had it? Kept him company every hour, every minute, as the clock ticked on and high tide shifted to low tide and back again.
Haru closed the door and slipped his bag down to the floor, removing his shoes. Feet bare against the cold wood, he crouched down in front of his slumbering friend.
Makoto. Even slumped against the wall he remained taller than Haru. Makoto and his feathery, olive wisps of hair, now more grey-toned in the eerie lighting. Dressed in the matching swim club uniform Haru wore. Makoto and the long face that suited the slight curve of his perpetual smile; he smiled even in his sleep, and Haru knew that smile well. More than once when Haru stayed at Makoto's household, a home more of a home than the very house he crouched in at that very moment, he woke up at night with water cravings and found Makoto stretched over the floor (as Makoto always let Haru take the bed, even if Haru didn't mind either way, but Makoto always insisted with those pleading eyes of his, captivating eyes that stole anyone's heart given the chance).
And even then, Makoto smiled in his sleep. Haru knew he had nightmares, although they appeared to be subdued. A gentle push away from the night terrors, Makoto hid that well.
But tonight, in the early hours of the night after the preliminaries, Makoto did not have a bad dream. No, it was exhaustion that lulled him to sleep, kept him buried under a restful sleep.
Haru picked up the cell phone in Makoto's hand, noting that it was his and while Makoto did have his own cell phone, Makoto was welcome to use a cell phone he seldom used. He pushed the screen up, activating the voicemail and pressing it to his ear.
One message. One voicemail with Nagisa, Rei, Kou with their frantic voices. Actually worried about him. They should have known he would be swimming. The water called to him the most, welcomed Haru with its cool embrace, and they knew that.
What were they doing, worrying about him, when they had other things to worry about?
He ended the voicemail, pocketing his phone and flicking off the light switch to the hallway. He felt lighter in the darkness-as if submerged under the pool's waves as he had been an hour ago.
But why hadn't Makoto's voice been there, woven in with the rest of the team? Where had he been?
It didn't matter, and Haru tossed away those thoughts without the slightest hesitation. What mattered was the likelihood of Makoto having attempted to stay up to make sure Haru got home in the first place.
Haru stared at Makoto, who still slept in his leaning posture, head against the wall in his admission of exhaustion.
Haru leaned forward, thinking of all those times Makoto wanted to make sure Haru was comfortable, safe and sound beside him. He pecked Makoto, a light press against soft lips, the taste of sea salt an echo, a memory, an unsaid promise between them to stay.
Stay by the water, stay by each other's side.