I'm exhausted, life is shit, so have some of this bullshit. I didn't want to use this story start for my eng3610 soooo.
Warnings: character death, or at least precipice of.
please sacrifice me to sterculius
Haruka had been so immersed in his work that he didn't notice the heaviness of the empty apartment until it was already nearing 20:00 and his boyfriend's dinner was still sitting on the table— an untouched, congealed mess of what was once an edible meal.
It wasn't like Makoto to be so late. At least not without calling ahead.
Haruka promised himself he'd wait till 21:00 then he'd call. Makoto probably just got swindled into taking a longer shift at work tonight. Or perhaps he had delved into his own coursework and temporarily lost himself just as Haruka had been doing all evening. Makoto had been talking about a paper due this week. He didn't want to bother him.
By 20:06 he realized he had no idea what he had been reading for the past five minutes. By 20:10 he had begun pacing the cramped living room. By 20:12 he'd nearly lost all his patience. The worst had begun to set in; what if he was hurt? What if Haruka was supposed to meet him somewhere and he'd completely forgotten, and now Makoto was stuck out in the dark and rain, waiting on him?
As though willed by Haruka's panic, his cell phone began to ring across the room. He scrambled, dropping his books and papers to the side, and almost felt relieved when he saw it was Makoto's smiling face displayed on the screen.
"You're late." Are you okay? You're not hurt, are you? Do I need to come get you?
"Ah, yeah," Haruka could hear the grimace through the phone, the sharp exhale of a sigh. "They asked me to stay over at work. I'm sorry, Haru. I should have called sooner."
The tension fled from Haruka's body, all the coils melting away simultaneously as he sighed on his own end. He'd worked himself up over nothing— but Makoto was safe. He'd be home soon. He'd walk through the door and smile, make a joke about missing dinner and probably force Haruka to let him do the dishes as apology. Haruka would get fussy about his paper and retire early, crawling into Makoto's lap and drifting off, wrapped up in the silly red flannel Makoto liked to wear around the house.
Everything was alright.
"No, it's fine. Dinner's cold," Haruka smiled into the phone. Could imagine the look on Makoto's face as the real guilt settled in and he reached for ways to make it up to him.
"Ah, I'm awful," Makoto laughed. The sound was a little off. Sad, almost. Haruka would let him wallow till he came home— dinner had been a hassle, after all. And he'd made him worry on top of it.
"Hey, Haru?"
"Hm."
"I love you, Haru. You know that— right?"
There was a heavy silence. A pause while Haruka's heart nearly stopped. He'd known Makoto all his life, loved him just the same, but hearing the words spoken still sent him on a high he wasn't aware anything outside of swimming could give him. If a person— a single sentence— could be home, this was it for Haruka Nanase.
"I love you too, Makoto."
There were a million other things he wanted to add— cheesy romantic one-liners and pieces of his heart. Things he'd never say aloud to another. But he didn't have to say them anyway; Makoto would know. He always knew. Makoto could read Haruka like he was his favourite childhood book— could decipher him down to the flutter of his eyelashes and the sigh he hid under his breath.
So he left it at a simple "I love you too, Makoto" knowing that the other caught all the words hidden beneath them, like secrets at the bottom of the ocean. He set his phone aside, suddenly restless as he tried to smother his giddy smile in the cuff of his sleeve.
Makoto would be home soon. Everything was okay.
His sense of dread grew when he pulled his hand away from the wound and watched how quickly his body was losing itself. Mind and body were separating, loosening from the ties that held the two together. He was suddenly above himself. Panicking, he took stock of how quickly the heat was leaving his body— he remembered a friend at university telling him how it felt impossible to get warm after losing blood.
Tremors twisted down his spine. Sodden with his own lifeblood, the universe of his veins staining the ground beneath him, he felt a sob rise in his throat. He had made a mistake; wrong place, wrong time, and he could feel himself slipping just as quickly as the mistakes had been made. Not yet, he pleaded. Not yet.
He fished through his pockets with slick fingers. Scrabbling for purchase against cool plastic. Red, red— everything was so damn red. He was dying and it was dark, pressing and heavy like a boulder against his chest.
Just a few moments, he begged to the nightfall. He couldn't see the stars from where he was crumpled, left in the bleakest heart of the city. Just sixty seconds.
The connection barely rang twice before his boyfriend picked up. "You're late." Haruka sounded tense, maybe even a tad irritable, but Makoto could hear the unspoken panic under it all and it made Makoto love Haruka all the more. Makoto took a moment to choke back a silent sob. Haruka's voice sounded like home— it was amazing how intangible things could wrap around him like an embrace, could calm him and bring him back to a better time like a gentle hand guiding him down a path.
Makoto took a few shallow breaths, imagined sitting next to his boyfriend in their little apartment on the outskirts of the city, wrapping his arms around the other boy and taking hours to tell Haruka how much he truly meant to him— but he only had minutes. Mere moments to embolden with a lifetime of loving Haruka Nanase. He was sure Haruka would understand what he left unsaid— he always did.
