Makoto, quiet, opened the door of Haru's house after school, peeking inside—the boy was asleep on the sofa, the long-empty soup bowl sitting on the table.
Shaking his head and sighing, he went inside, putting the bowl in the sink and checking Haru's temperature. It wasn't that high, but still warm enough to indicate a mild fever, so Makoto tucked Haru (who had thrown his blankets off) in, and gave him a wry smile.
He sat down on a cushion.
It's hard to believe I'm going to Tokyo in a year, he thought. Will Haru be all right? It's right after the national tournament, too…
Gazing at the boy's sleeping form, he wondered if it would really be a good idea to leave him alone. He'd eat mackerel every meal.
The thought made him shudder. Mackerel was fine once in awhile, but Haru's obsession with it was really rather unhealthy.
"Makoto," whispered Haru in his sleep. "Go to school."
Makoto smiled, leaning across the table and ruffling his hair.
Haru's eyes opened in the middle of the movement, and Makoto jerked his hand back as if it'd been burned, then looked away, feeling a shy pinkness come to his cheeks.
"Oi," said Haru, his voice still a breath of air rather than an actual voice.
Makoto refused to look at him, instead finding a very interesting patch of wall to stare at.
"Are you sick too?" Haru raised a hand to Makoto's forehead, who blushed even harder and sneaked a small glance over to his face before staring at the wall again.
"No," said Makoto.
A sudden bout of coughing wracked Haru's body, sending tears streaming from his eyes as the deep scraping sound boomed from his chest.
Makoto looked at him in panic, and then got him a glass of warm water, holding Haru's shoulders as he shook with coughs, unable to stop the fit.
When they finally subsided and Haru wiped his eyes, Makoto made him sip the water little by little—soon Haru was lying back on the couch, sighing and letting out another occasional cough every now and then.
"You've got bronchitis," murmured Makoto sadly. "No swimming for you."
Haru jerked upright. "No swim—"
More coughing, and Makoto gave him more warm water, feeling a pang of sympathy in his chest—Haru loved swimming. He adored it. Being unable to do it for such a long while must have been horrible.
It's like when I'm away from him for too long, came the thought, quick and unexpected, but Makoto pushed it away. Stop!
Once Haru's coughing faded a bit, he began to protest weakly again. "But the club—"
"The club will do fine," said Makoto gently yet firmly. "Don't worry about it. You'll get to swim once you're better."
Haru pouted but didn't reply—his throat hurt too much.
"Besides," said Makoto. "We all need a break. We just finished regionals; the national tournament isn't till July, and it's only March. It won't hurt to take a bit of time off. We all need it."
Haru's pout faded a little and he lay down again, staring up at the ceiling.
There was a small thought, in the back of Haru's head, and though he wanted to get rid of it he also thought it was true.
Maybe it isn't so bad with Makoto here.
