AN: Hello, I'm not dead! This is Alara, sticking closely to my biannual posting schedule. I promise I'm writing for all of you lovelies on here, but writing takes me a long time and I don't want to post anything multi-chapter unless i have at least 7 updates stored away so i can update every two weeks or so and pretend to be responsible. Anyways, here's some MakoHaru (PoolHaru if you really want it to be) for you. I own none of the characters, just the plot.
Haru looked up at the strong hand in front of him, wondering why he put it in the grasp of another every morning. He imagined that other hand, strong, soft fingers extended from an open palm. It carried the same warmth as a friendly hello. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he knew there was some reason he took that gesture every morning. It was a little strange, really. Counterintuitive. That was the word for it. He'd spent his past years focused on school and swimming. He still loved the water, but it was a bittersweet relationship. He'd think of lanes and races. Mostly he'd think of Rin.
Not that he really wanted to think of Rin. One race. He didn't even really like races. All the focus on times was exhausting, to say the least. Rin was always very gung-ho about times. Times and relays.
The water sloshed around the tub, creating ripples as his head entered the water. The bathtub was pleasant, safe even. Its waters were warm and uplifting. It was an escape. From the noise and the pressure. In the water's grasp, he could forget to be a prodigy. He couldn't wait to be forgotten about. It was a strange feeling really. There would be no more invites to swim teams, or expectations. No more pool cleaning parties or drowning. No more oceans, no more goldfish. He could just go with the water's flow, and forget everything else. Forget himself.
He heard a garbled noise, and looked up, used to the water in his eyes. A flesh colored blob, fingers extended towards the water. It was an invitation. It could be anyone's hand. It could be Blonde-haired Nagisa, chiding him for being in the tub, but smiling the whole time. It could be Rei, thoroughly confused about the whole ordeal. It could have been his parents, finally interrupting his morning ritual. It could even be Rin, back from Samezuka to race again.
Strangely enough, he already knew who the hand belonged to. Maybe it was the fact that the hand had always been there for him every day. Maybe it was that there was only one person who'd ever come get him in the mornings. Maybe this person was the only one who cared. It was a comforting thought, that he came every morning. It was routine by now- the door would be unlocked, no alarm set. The time on the clock'd always be important to the visitor, but,chuckling to himself, he realized that he never cared much about it. Every moment with his visitor was a good one.
He slid his hand through the water, an effortless action. It broke the surface smoothly, the cold air sending chills down his arm. First his fingers drove from the comfort of the water, followed closely by his palm and wrist. He began to sit up, feeling his head breach the surface. He whipped his hair back and forth a few times, dislodging any water that may have clung on.
The hand grasped his, wrapping sturdy fingers around his palm. His thumb found a resting place locked with the other's, fingers curling around the welcoming invitation. He shifted slightly so his legs were under him, just in case. The hand pulled, taking the whole of Haru with it. He remembered the feeling of that hand, calloused and gentile. He remembered that strength and tenderness, and the kindness it was used for. Now standing face to face, he stared into the smiling features of the hand's owner. The strong jawline and light olive hair were a sight as common in the morning as the rising sun, and just as stunning.
The boy guided him out of the bath and lightly tossed a towel onto his head. It was normal practice by this point. He gladly accepted the towel, conscious that their hands were still connected. The olive-haired boy is talking, flooding the room with words he knows Haru will pay no mind. Exclamations about the time, questions on breakfast and if a swimsuit was really something to wear all the time under clothes. Haru smiled, letting the other boy's words wash over him. It was not the same embrace as the water offered. The tall boy was more like a blanket, warm and comforting.
He dried his hair one-handed, feeling warmth flood through him from the other. Maybe this was the reason he'd chosen. The reason he continued to ignore races and times. The reason he had found a new freedom. Maybe there was rhyme and reason to his actions. He smiled, though the other boy was turned away. Maybe this was why he took that hand every morning.
Just maybe.