The water is warm. That is his favorite part about the ocean: at the end of summer it's the perfect temperature, and even Makoto can't complain or insist that they'll catch a cold if they soak too long. Haruka closes his eyes as another wave crawls up the shore, sliding along his feet all the way up to his ankles and half burying them in wet sand.

There is nothing else like the ocean, impossibly beautiful yet simultaneously so unforgivably vicious. Water in its living, breathing element; stealing the breath of others so it can billow out its own majesty in a typhoon or hurricane.

Absolutely beautiful.

Makoto sits next to him, but a little bit further up the beach. Haruka tilts his head back, squints against harsh rays of sunlight to catch a glimpse of him before another wave rushes up to tease along his stomach. Makoto is curled into himself, strong arms around his legs and eyes focused pointedly on his toes. He looks uncomfortable – afraid, even – but that can't be helped. It's been this way since they were little. Haruka can't understand because he loves the water, loves the gentle slide of it over his skin and the wet embrace when immersed fully in the crystal blue.

He's only asked Makoto once about this fear.

It takes things, had been the answer, strangely familiar though Haruka couldn't place why. The words roll around in his mind now, in a child's soft, trembling voice. It takes things, and it doesn't give them back.

Haruka frowns as he considers what he can do. Aside from leaving the beach entirely, there's never much that can help Makoto, and Haruka doesn't want to go just yet. He reaches his hand out, closes his eyes as his fingers brush Makoto's ankle.

"It's calm," he says. Nothing can happen as long as I'm here, he wants to say. He runs his hand up to the baggy green swim trunks at Makoto's knee. He's never been good at comforting others – it makes him feel awkward, and he's sure there's something more he can do, something he can say, but he doesn't know what. The words are stuck in his mouth like cotton balls and he can't get them out no matter how much he wants to. I'd never let anything happen to you.

Haruka cracks his eyes back open and catches Makoto's slight nod. The touch has eased the tension in Makoto's shoulders, but Makoto's troubled expression still remains, steadfastly fixed on the sand under his feet.

A shriek from further down the beach startles Haruka and his head jerks to the side. Two adults set out a picnic as their children charge forward into the waves. The smallest of the boys looks a bit more hesitant, his hand fisted in the bottom hem of his mother knee-length shorts. He doesn't seem concerned about the water, though.

The boy is looking at Haruka.

Haru looks away, turns back to— nothing. Makoto is gone, Haruka's hand empty. He stretches his fingers out in the sand, the rough grains a poor substitute for Makoto's skin, but he's not surprised. Makoto looked nearly ready to bolt before. The shouts from the kids probably scared him. So easily frightened is his Makoto. It's such a contrast to his towering physique, but Haruka finds it endearing.

He sits up and shakes the sand from his hair. No doubt Makoto's waiting for him somewhere safer.

"Mommy, who's he talking to?" It's the little boy. Haruka blinks, looks from where the waves have already swallowed Makoto's footprints up to the family.

"You shouldn't stare at people," the mother says. She sounds distracted, or like she doesn't want to be bothered. Mothers should pay more attention to their children.

"He was talking," the boy insists, "and he keeps looking up like someone should be there."

Annoying.

Haruka briskly stands, throws his shirt on, and walks up the beach. He deliberately shoots the little boy a glare as he passes the family. He wants to be around people, he really does – it's just – he can't see any of them understanding him. They never did when he was younger, so he sees no reason why they would start now.

Makoto's the only one who gets it, the only one to stay by his side throughout the years. And yet, sometimes even that isn't enough. Sometimes it doesn't feel right – or rather, Haruka wants more...

He finds Makoto by the trees lining the boardwalk, facing away from the ocean. He's still afraid, but it's getting better. Slowly it's getting better for Makoto, even if only with Haruka.

Haru stops beside him and quirks a little half-smile. Makoto apologizes softly. There's nothing to forgive. When Makoto reaches out to grasp the hem of Haruka's sleeve, a nervous habit developed when they were still very young, Haru lifts his own hand and intercepts. Their fingertips bump against each other, a faint touch that causes Makoto to jump in surprise. Before he can withdraw, Haruka adjusts his hand and interlaces their fingers. Surprise dashes across Makoto's face before sea-green eyes shift timidly to meet Haruka's gaze.

It's a small and simple moment, but a part of Haru already cherishes it. Makoto's fingers tighten against his own, and he's still looking down at him. There's something expectant in his eyes. Haruka leans closer, certain he knows what it is and what to do, even if the compulsion is somewhat new to him. Even though Makoto's larger body should block it, a sharp wind still manages to ruffle Haruka's clothes and make him shiver, but it's okay, Haruka's not worried about that. He licks his lips and tilts his chin up and—

Another joyous shriek from the beach effectively breaks the spell. Haruka gives an exasperated huff and drops Makoto's hand. "Let's go home."

Makoto catches up to him with a long stride. Haruka blinks when he hooks their pinkies together, but doesn't comment on it.

Other people always seem so cruel to each other. Haruka has spent enough time silently observing to come to this conclusion. They always point to each other, faces twisting to match their ugly commentary. Haruka doesn't like it, doesn't like people, but he hates to be alone even more. He walks closely beside Makoto, too close for an ordinary friend – because Makoto isn't an ordinary friend.

Makoto is the sense of hope that dawns with each new morning, the calming reality that each sunset brings a new tomorrow. The cleansing feeling of water washing away the ugliness of the past, and the belief that one day the aching whole in his chest might be filled.

With Makoto, Haruka never has to feel alone. And so he'll never let Makoto go.

Lawli: This section was written by WinterierLionheart, edited by myself mainly to try and meld our writing styles together.

Just as a forewarning, as you've probably noticed, this story will jump around to different times as well as different points of view. My storytelling tends to do that a lot. This chapter is Haruka, around 15 yeas old.

Also, check out the spiffy cover art by WinterierLionheart. She is awesome. Go follow her on tumblr now!

See ya next time.