It's the same every time. Every moment spent with him… is the same. In the morning: wake up, get Haru, walk to school. At lunch: get Haru, go to roof. And after school: get Haru, go to club. Then after club: get Haru, go home. Every aspect of my day involves Haru. This time is no different. For now we are both alone—our families are away. We are each others only companion in times like this. And right now, we stand in front of my house. I am in the doorway; Haru is two paces away. Every evening like this, in the safety of silence and aloneness, I want to tell him. My heart always wants to pour out.
But I do not let it.
It has not always been this way, honestly, I want to say this change in my resolve is recent. But then I realize I cannot put a time on it at all. It just sort of… happened. And now I struggle to keep my mouth shut at all.
My mouth opens. This will be censored. It has to be.
"Haru…" I can't say what I really want to. There's always been that invisible hurdle for me—between what I want to say and will say. "… won't you stay for dinner?" The hand of mine that grips the open door behind me suddenly tightens. It's an involuntary movement and I pray he does not notice. My heart threatens to force me into submission. Silent words echoed in my head—but, for all I knew, they are in another language… completely unspeakable to me.
A blink. A nod. Haru accepts the invitation and he strides forward. His eyes flick up to me, and for a second I swear he knows my thoughts. Part of me begged him to read me—wished desperately for him to know my secrets. But no. His gaze drops from mine and he passes without a word.
I sigh. That's the nature of our relationship: completely wordless, only speaking when needed. Since childhood, Haru's been a person of few words. I never minded, though, in fact, I grew to enjoy it. My words became his, in a way that made us even closer. It got to a point that I knew his thoughts merely because his words had become my own… if only the opposite were true. I am sure Haru understands me as well as I know him, but I am not sure if it is in the same way.
People say that a person will do for others what he secretly wants done to himself… and by that logic it would mean that I secretly want Haru to read my thought process and act accordingly—except that would be unfair. He shouldn't need to be burdened with what I am thinking… but when I think like that, does it mean that Haru thinks the same of what I am doing?
He's a complete enigma in that regard. We've known each other nearly our whole lives and yet I feel as though I only think I know what he's thinking.
I shut the door solidly and marvel for a second at my shadow. It lays flattened against the door—trapped in a two-dimensional universe devoid of emotion. A floorboard creaks behind me and another shadow extends onto the door next to mine. I know the shape of this person—I have such a figure memorized. For a second, it almost looks like our hands are entwined. I am tempted to reach out—
"Makoto." The wavelength shakes my heart. I feel the call. I know this feeling like no other.
I turned silently, wiping the wistful expression off of my face before he could see. It had been a silent promise to myself: show only what you must, these feelings are useless.
Haru stands resolute in the hallway, his shoulders slack. I give him a warm look, a trademark smile, and I will my eyes to not betray me.
After all, the eyes are a window into the soul… or so they say.
His eyes scan me, they narrow, and I watch as his lips part. My body stiffens as he steps closer. "Makoto…" Again with my name. His tone is strained.
Quickly. I must speak. I must. "I'm fine." I wave him off. "Come on, let's go. I invited you over, didn't I? It'd be improper to not eat." I slide past him and go into the kitchen.
I hardly managed to cook the fish properly—words haunted me and drove like knives into my heart. And so, for the ten minutes it took me to cook, I bleed horrifically.
We speak very little over dinner—which was mackerel. A few remarks are made over the food itself, but I find I am no longer hungry. Haru asks about my family, and I tell him where they went. I ask about his parents. The conversation is very businesslike—personal topics are not even touched upon.
Haru's eyes are constantly on me; I can feel them. I know them. I know their burn, their intensity, their kindness… their love. And it is this sad warmth that fills them that assures me even more of everything I can never have.
Millions of unspoken words hang in the air between us, a sea of silence that swirls around us two islands known but to one another. At times it is terrible trying to navigate the waves of emotion accompanying the voiceless words. But we have spent our lives keeping our heads above this water, and so I do not hate this eternal dance, quite the contrary in fact, I love it. Haru's eyes sparkle with questions that he cannot find the words to ask.
I do eventually incline my head to him, acknowledging his gesture of inquiry. But the smile I wear upon dipping back up from the oceans around us lets him know that I do not plan to submit. My thoughts are mine, and that is the way it shall stay. Friends are only meant to know so much. Just putting the world "childhood" in front of it changes nothing. Our bond is still no deeper.
I am sad. But I do not really know why. I've been happy with this for my whole life. What changed… and why? I didn't wish for this to happen.
"Makoto…" Haru starts. We are washing the dishes together. I have the washing portion and Haru has the drying portion. He has a towel slung over his shoulder.
I do not look at him, despite being able to feel his eyes on me. "Hm?"
"Is there something wrong?"
I want to tell you. "…No. What makes you say that?" I really do.
"You've been strange recently…"
Of course I have.
"Really? Is it that noticeable?" I chuckle and hand him the newly washed plate. "Careful, it's hot." I warn him. My hands are already red and raw from the hot water. But for me to bleed now would barely faze me. I've been bleeding for months already.
He takes no heed of my warning. His hand grabs the steaming ceramic and sets it on the counter. The same hand catches my wrist as I move to get the next plate. "Haru…"
"You're sure everything's okay?" His desperation makes me hurt all the more. This side of Haru is reserved for me—this… caring, gentle side. My selfishness really is a burden.
"Yeah. Well, in truth, I'm tired. Haven't been sleeping good recently." I force my mouth to smile. I must wear this mask. It shall not crack.
Haru's eyes scrutinize me, he is searching for a way to open me up.
But what I said just then was not a lie. I really am tired.
He waits a second longer before releasing me. The ghost of his hand is cold. Not even the scalding water can eliminate the icy burn left by his touch. I estimate I will feel the effects late into the night. That's how it's gotten to be recently.
He diligently helps me finish the washing. "Thanks for the help." I say as I put the plates back in the cupboard.
He nods. "Yeah. I guess I'll head home… give you time to sleep. See you tomorrow."
"See you." I laugh lightly, but it's forced. Time's got nothing to do with it, Haru…
A second later he is leaving. I hear him put on his shoes. The door opens. It closes.
And then he's gone.
I didn't even have the will to see him out. What a coward I have become. But these feelings that I hold have made me so. It's so hard to see the object of my strife every day, for I did not make this change of being willingly. These feelings are mine alone.
And I intended to keep it that way.
Thanks for reading.
Not sure if I should continue this... I'm tempted to turn this into a longer story and explore their relationship more.
This is my first Free! fanfic so any feedback is appreciated!
