Author's Note: This fic is going to be a real journey, but I had this story idea in my head for weeks and I finally got around to writing it. This is my first contribution to the Free! Fandom, and I hope that I can continue to give to the community, even if my ideas are cliché.

【 Chapter 1: Mackerel 】

Makoto clumsily detaches his lips from the CPR training dummy, nonplussed and as awkward as he expects to be from breathing into a rubber face, but proud. He straightens the glasses on his face that have been pressing uncomfortably against the bridge of the dummy's nose, before he moves to his seat.

As ambivalent as the future could be, a single life is more vulnerable to change.

Like the stars above the city Makoto often watched taper off into the dark with no real consistency, a heartbeat could be as ephemeral as the lights in the night sky.

Makoto finds dizzying comfort in the fact that he could shift the balance in someone's favor by giving them the air in his lungs, and that knowledge alone made it easy to brush aside the embarrassment he had felt when lip-locking with a prosthetic women named Resusci Anne.

The instructor shoots him a thumbs up and he smiles modestly at her, continuing to listen diligently for the rest of class. EMT certification was one of the first requirements on the road to becoming a firefighter. And while he was well on his way, there was still a lot of work he needed to do before he gets there.

Two months have passed since he moved to Tokyo and he's taken a variety of fire science classes at the local university. While he misses home, and his two younger siblings waiting for him there, Makoto could say a little easily now that he was starting to adjust to the tumultuous nature of the city, to the point where everything lately began to feel sort of unexciting and redundant.

He supposes, maybe it's inevitable for things to seem routine after settling in a certain place for a certain length of time.

His parents weren't exactly happy with his career decision or his move, but they weren't any less supportive, and he's still grateful for that.

Makoto can picture their worried faces, even now, when he told them during his last year of high school that he wanted to go to the city to basically learn how to save people. From fires. And how all that translated to him throwing his life away, which led to his mother stress-cooking, his father giving him a long, long talk on just what he was getting himself to, and his little brother and sister begging him not to die.

After hours of reassuring them, especially Ren and Ran, that he would in fact, stay very much alive, his parents eventually came around and offered to support him while he was away.

Makoto knew that it was hard for them to understand. Just he's always been attentive to a fault, and a few middle school trips to a fire house, plus that overwhelming urge to protect, mapped out the course of his life before he even knew what Cardiopulmonary resuscitation was. Before he even started high school he'd been certain that this was what he wanted to do.

The instructor waves a hand in dismissal, and Makoto pulls his bag over his shoulder with meaningful slowness, glancing behind him. After a few minutes, he turns around and smiles abashedly at the dark haired, heavy presence now by his side.

"Your ears were red the whole time."

Makoto meets his friend Sousuke with a look caught between distress and resignation and slumps forward. Sousuke was the only one at the university who could tower over his already alarming height with relative indifference to the stares, and some part of him wishes he could be that untroubled.

"Your chest compressions were too rough, "Sousuke says casually, "next time, ease up."

"Who knew she could make me so nervous..." Makoto says, and he laughs quietly. It was silly to think about, but even the closed, plastic eyes of the dummy had made him feel like he was doing something to someone that he shouldn't. "But you seemed fine up there, Sousuke. I'm a little jealous."

"Because she isn't real," Sousuke says humorously, accentuates the slip up with a teasing tone so subtle, the only inclination being the faint upward curve of his lips, and Makoto sighs and berates himself even further for the mistake.

He met Sousuke in his Hazardous Materials Awareness class this semester. Makoto needs to pass it, just so he'll be eligible for the Fire Marshal certification exam, but for Sousuke it was a prerequisite. He's training to become a paramedic.

Sousuke pats Makoto once on the back in silent reassurance, probably reading the disappointment on his face. Although their professions were different on paper, Makoto is constantly soothed by the simple fact that their end goals are the same. They want to help others.

"Stop worrying," Sousuke says gruffly and looks off to the side.

"Right." Makoto sighs. Next time, I want to get it just right though.

Sousuke extends a finger toward Makoto's temple and cocks his head to the side. Makoto blinks. "Frown lines, Tachibana."

"Oh," Makoto catches himself, smoothes the anxious skin he's helplessly tensing with his index and thumb, and smiles in thanks.

"I'm heading to that cafe around the corner. Are you coming?"

"Ah, no, not this time," Makoto says, shaking his head. "I actually have to go home. Study for this test I have next week."

"Which one?"

"Basic Operations."

"They sure want to hammer in protocol," Sousuke says, grunting in acknowledgment, then he walks ahead and waves him off with a light smirk. "I'll see you next class, then."

"Yeah." Makoto draws in a breath, willing himself not to follow as he watches his friend disappear. As much as he wants to go out to eat for a change-and he really does want to-he knows that he can't be spending that kind money left and right.

Makoto adjusts his bag strap again so it hangs comfortably off his shoulder, and begins to walk out of the building and onto the busy streets.

His apartment is within walking distance from his university, only fifteen minutes on foot. He'd picked it out partly because it's such a short commute from home to school, but mostly because it's a cheap place with very cheap utilities and a nice landlady who harbors a lot of cats.

It is most definitely small, cramped, not spectacular, or anything- but it works, and is kind of convenient when the water isn't brown.

(...Though he fears on a daily basis that he will hit his head against the low ceilings).

Makoto stops just a block away when his phone trembles violently out of nowhere. The sun starts to set behind the tall office buildings, and he turns his head away from the warm glow, brings the screen up to his face, and reads the texts which are coming now in rapid succession.

He has to hold back a smile as his eyes travel down the screen.

[8:03:20 PM] Ren: Ran is pullin g my hair

[8:03:45 PM] Ren: make her stop!

[8:03:45 PM] Ran: i'm not hes lying ⋋_⋌

[8:04:20 PM] Ren: she punc hed me becau se we played ur racecar game and i won but i won big bro tell her to stop

The screen flashes again, and Makoto is definitely laughing in the middle of the sidewalk now, but he can't find it in him to mind.

[8:04:54 PM] Ren: im the man of the house now why isnt ran listening to me make her listen to me im the man now

Makoto muffles another laugh by clasping his hand over his mouth, shoulders trembling. He's still trying to get used to the fact that the twins have phones. He only bought phones for them under the condition that he was their only contact, aside from their parents and each other.

Makato could only imagine beforehow terrible Ran must be without him there, but with these texts he no longer needs to.

Ran was always bullying Ren if he wasn't there to monitor her, and Makoto knows now that he's away, it was up to Ren to fend for himself. But that doesn't mean he won't try to help his younger sibling.

Makoto rounds the corner and starts to traverse the steps up to his apartment. Meanwhile, he thumbs the keys on his phone, all with a familiar need to restore order between the two of them, and it fills his stomach with nostalgia. A warmth rises.

He really misses it.

Ran, play nicely. He won the game fair and square. And Ren, it's late over there. As the man of the house, get you and your sister ready for bed. ^^ ok?

After sending that, Makoto doesn't get any more texts until he's in front of his own door and he's pulling out his keys.

The screen flashes.

[8:04:20 PM] Ran: we love you bro nightnigh!

He misses them

Makoto's keys slip out of his hand and he frowns, feeling his heart clench.

He wishes he could visit soon, but he isn't sure if he'll even get the time. With how busy he's been with classes, he's barely been able to sleep, let alone have the time to take off school for a few days.

(... But if this keeps up, he isn't sure how long it'll be before he snaps and ends up buying the first train ticket back home.)

Makoto exhales and lets himself sulk. Ah... He's been battling this homesickness for a while, but for some reason today it was a lot worse than usual. He decides he'll definitely call them tomorrow at least. Maybe in a few weeks he will work out a plan where they can see him instead. It shouldn't be too hard, and the twins will probably like exploring the parks around here.

Feeling satisfied with that thought, Makoto bends over to grab the keys he dropped on the floor and turns them in the lock. Just as he's about to walk in he freezes. Makoto jerks his head up and only half-inhales through his nose before he turns his attention to the apartment next to him.

It reeks of smoke.

The window isn't open, Makoto realizes, but he can see the grey smog seep out from the bottom of the door frame, and all around him starts to smell of something pungent. As cheap as these apartments are, each one is equipped with a smoke detector that should be working. Makoto knows, because he personally made sure to ask the landlady before he moved in if they were checked regularly for efficiency. But with this much already…

It must be broken, he thinks hastily.

Makoto abandons his keys, walks briskly to his neighbor's door, and presses the doorbell, fidgeting nervously. It was probably nothing. He just wants to make sure it was nothing. However, after two minutes that feel like a whole eternity, he does it again and can't help feeling at once ridiculous and terrified. No one seems to be coming.

"Is everything okay?" Makoto calls, and he raps his fists against the door, hoping for an answer of some kind. "Hello?" He strains his ears, searches for a sound, but what greets him is an uncomfortable silence.

He moves to press his face against the window and knows he's getting anxious now. Makoto tries to peer through some slip in the curtain, but it's impossible to see inside, so he hefts his bag off his shoulder and steps back, cradling his chin with his hand in thought. Is anyone inside?

He's never seen this person before, his neighbor.

From the first day he moved in it was always quiet next door. While he's asked about the tenant beside him out of courtesy, he's never gotten much to go on except that they kept to themselves.

Was this person the type who was shy? Secluded maybe? Or did they just have trouble moving around?

(Now that was kind of scary…)

What if they were hurt in there? Or passed out?

Makoto then has to picture his neighbor as an elderly women on the floor, struggling to reach the door, and he decides that he can't really wait around anymore to find out the answer.

"Uhm, if anyone's in there, I'm coming in!" Makoto shouts, his throat dry. He quickly dashes into his apartment and grabs the fire extinguisher he keeps propped on the wall, just in case. When he comes back, Makoto steels his nerves, which are electric-charged and jumping all over the place, before he tightens the muscles in his back, backs up, and wonders if there's even a proper way to break into someone's home. Here it goes.

Closing his eyes, Makoto rushes forward and braces himself for the impact.

The door gives out easily, a little too easily against the weight of his body and as it swings open he's propelling forward with no control.

"Gah!" Makoto finds he only has a second to think, scream, wonder if maybe he should have checked if the door was unlocked all along, before he's lost his footing and flounders like a graceless swan into the living area, stepping on countless things.

It's so embarrassing.

He wants to disappear.

Makoto's aware he's flailing with a large object in his hand as he tries not to faceplant into the person's carpet. Somehowhe manages to balance himself upright like a stiff, dry log, and his face burns hot.

He feels wildly out of his element, intruding like this, but he'll have time to hide later.

He places a hand on his chest, as if the power of his sweaty palms will work wonders to calm his racing heart. Then he positions the extinguisher in front of him, his finger resting on the discharge lever while the other cradles the nozzle. He catches a whiff of the smell, and Makoto's attention is focused straight ahead.

It reminds him of the time Ran tried to cook fish. He'd been trying to teach her, but it all went wrong when she went to play tag with Ren and left the pan unattended. Makoto remembers lecturing them for an hour about how it important it was to stay in the kitchen.

This is the same situation, but luckily more manageable.

The apartment is a similar layout to his, so he's able to find the kitchen pretty quickly. Makoto breathes out a sigh of relief when he comes upon an inflamed cooking pan instead of burning curtains or exploding ovens, and he gently releases his finger from the lever. The food isn't even burnt (is that mackeral?) and it's nothing a lid won't fix.

Suddenly Makoto feels like he grossly misread the situation.

Ah. I overreacted.

Makoto brushes his hair back, smiling wearily. I guess I'm just tired.

Still, he can't help but wonder where the person who made this went.

"Who are you?"

He gets his answer.

The yelp that leaves Makoto's throat is ridiculously high pitched. He seriously panics as he reflexively presses down on the lever, foam flies every which way, and it completely douses the mackerel and the countertop around it.

Makoto stammers as he drops the extinguisher, turning around to apologize immediately, because he really doesn't know what just happened, he's so, so, so, so sorry for coming in here like this-

... The words die in his throat.

"Who are you?" They say more firmly, voice tinged with obvious irritation. A face unlike anything Makoto's ever seen before gives nothing away but the faintest brow crease, lips turned downward, and he just stares because…

Pretty.

This person standing in front of him was pretty, for lack of a better word to say, and…

"Um- I'm next door. The door next to yours? I-I'm your neighbor," Makoto's cheeks sting with heat, he's so inarticulate right now, but he isn't really in the frame of mind to care.

Dressed in a loose fitting white tee and dark grey sweats, Makoto unconsciously traces the droplet of water that's sliding down a single dark lock of his neighbor's hair. It falls and draws a line from his neck, to the smooth pasture of skin over his throat, and finally, finally it disappears underneath the partially wet shirt.

Makoto's mouth feels suddenly dry.

This person just stares, seeming unmoved by the information, and there's a stretch of silence. Makoto tries to gather himself.

"I saw smoke. I came by to see if everything was okay, which is why-"

"You broke in." This person deadpans, eyes hardening, and Makoto's breath catches in his throat. He suddenly feels caught between falling away to ruin and falling further into the sea that's manifested before him. Because he's never seen eyes as blue as these before. It's like he's being carried away by a riptide.

He can faintly taste the salt of the ocean on his tongue.

"You're right," Makoto admits, and he's surprised at his voice for coming out so clearly. "But there was a fire and… Uh, if you don't mind me asking... were you taking a bath?"

This person tenses.

Makoto harmlessly brings his hands up and blushes further. "I mean...! It's not my business what you were doing. I was just curious since you're so wet," the look he receives is downright accusatory, "W-Wait! Ah, what I mean is- it's just that I knocked earlier, but no one answered."

"I was busy."

"Of course…" Makoto says with a nervous sort of chuckle, and he smiles politely. He decides to let go of the question that's really on his mind, like why anyone would bathe in the middle of frying fish (they haven't denied it), because he's certain he won't get an answer. Or at least one he will understand. "I'm really sorry for intruding..."

More silence.

"And I might have made a mess?I did make a mess, but I can help clean up since I-"

"I don't care about that."

Makoto's eyes go wide with surprise.

"You… don't?" He echoes.

Aquatic orbs look behind him. Makoto notices the direction and glances over his shoulder at the mackerel caked in foam, and then back to this person, realizing there's a longing there. That longing quickly morphs into disappointment before Makoto's being skewered by an intense glare.

"My food," they mutter, "...you ruined it."

"...Oh," Oh. "... Um." What about the kitchen, and the mess, and breaking in? Except this person really doesn't seem concerned with any of it. Makoto can only watch in fascination as the man nudges forward and pushes him aside, staring at the mackerel like he's lost a dear friend.

Nimble fingers brush some froth away from the head of the fish.

It's intimate, almost.

"Leave."

"...Oh." Makoto suddenly aware he's just awkwardly standing around, watching him. He's almost completely forgotten his original reason for being here. "Right, let me just…" For some reason he doesn't really want to go, but he does.

He moves his feet away from the kitchen slowly, feeling like he's been broken out of a trance, and as he heads for the door Makoto notices a lot more about the apartment then when he'd initially charged in.

The television propped on the wall in the living room is dusty, like it hasn't been used for weeks, and there are magazines littered all over the floor. Makoto isn't even sure if there is much of a floor to begin with, now that he's really looked at it, since clothes are covering most of it. There's old food wrappers and dishes everywhere. It looks like he hasn't left this room in weeks.

Is he okay?

Tucked in a corner is piles upon piles of unopened mail, fifty or sixty letters at least, and they're all addressed to the same person: Haruka Nanase.

Makoto shuffles out of the apartment with only a backwards glance.

The door clicks behind him.

(... And he's not sure how many times the name Haruka rolls off his tongue that night.)

xXx
Thanks for reading! I will update this biweekly.