Short update this time, it's gonna be the second last chapter :( enjoy some fluff, I couldn't resist :3

Haru heard voices, female voices, from outside the classroom – high-pitched voices with a hint of malice. He tried to block them out, to force the rubber of his earbuds deeper into his ears so the crashing cymbals would block out their words, but it was to no avail. He was just about to get up and leave, to wait for Makoto in the library instead, but then he heard one word, and froze.

"Makoto - "

What? Why would they be talking about Makoto here, at this time, at this place, about Makoto of all people? A wave of jealousy rolled over him; unlike Haru, Makoto had always been comfortable, at home with others, chatting and laughing and even flirting occasionally with their other classmates. He had had his fair share of confessions from girls (even one scrawny young boy in their second year, Haru recalled, and had to bite his lip to force down the bile in his throat), and he had always turned them down. But it still scared Haru, to know that there was a way out, that Makoto could one day pick one of those girls and leave his side forever –

"Makoto? Oh, he's pathetic," the voice said, and Haru blanched. He could hear the latent scorn in the girl's voice. Her companion's words were soft, almost inaudible, but the girl with the screechy voice responded with a violent giggle.

"Oh, you would, wouldn't you, Madoka? I know he's got a great body, and all, but, I mean, look at him. He's got all the personality of a fucking doormat. I bet I could walk all over him in my high heels, and he wouldn't do anything other than roll over and ask for his belly to be scratched." Two identical shrieks of laughter followed the statement, as the girl in question pantomimed the hypothetical situation. "Oh, scratch me, scratch me, Ayane-san!" she mimicked, making her voice even more high-pitched, if that was possible. "God, I just hate guys like him with no backbone. Step on me more with your high-heels, Ayane-san!"

Haru saw red. An actual dark haze descended on his eyes and blinded him, and he didn't even realise what he was doing until he stood outside the classroom, the empty cup in his hand and a very drenched, very angry girl in front of him.

"What the actual fuck, Nanase!" she howled, gesturing at her sodden clothes, her soaked tie, her bedraggled skirt. "What the fuck did you just do?" She ran her fingers through her dyed yellow hair, staring disbelievingly at the droplets of water trickling off her fingertips. "Did you hear what I said? Was that it? Oh man, you got angry just 'cause I dissed your pussy of a boyfriend?" The girl shook her head, her teeth bared in an animalistic scowl which would have been slightly intimidating if she hadn't been wetter than a fish. She stepped closer to Haru, putting her body right in his personal space, getting up close and poking him in the chest with one long, sharp fingernail. "How's it like, huh, fucking his pussy every night the way you'd give it to a girl? Two virgins, together every night, fucking like bunnies on heat?"

Haru didn't glorify that question with a response, choosing instead to open the cap of his water bottle and enjoy the sight of the girl spluttering, choking, screaming, in front of him.

"Haru!" Makoto said, and Haru whirled around, his pupils dilating as he realised that, in their intense argument, neither he nor the girl had noticed Makoto standing behind them. He blushed as he held the empty bottle in his hand, feeling somehow ashamed and exhilarated all at the same time.

Ayane gave him a mighty push on the chest, sending him stumbling backwards into Makoto's broad one. "How dare you!" she squawked, beating her fists against his chest, pummelling him with such force that he could practically feel the bruises spontaneously forming on his skin. "I'll tell the principal, I will, I'll get you expelled for fucking drenching me! Do you have any idea how much this jacket cost? How much I had to fork over for these fucking stockings? So, Makoto, you can just tell your fucking whore to fuck off and - "

She was cut off by Makoto, who had gently pulled Haru away behind him and was now standing face to face with her. He had put on his sweetest, saccharine smile, and had been patiently listening to Ayane's hysterical rant, but now he put a hand on her shoulder and leaned closer, effectively cutting off her stream of speech. His smile became, if it was even possible, ten times sweeter. From behind him, Haru saw her face go deadly white.

"Ayane-san," he whispered, and Haru shivered at the base note in his voice, "I can't have you saying things like that about my friends. I'm sorry he poured water on you, I can't say how sorry I am, I'll make sure he doesn't do it again, but that doesn't mean you get to say things like that about Haru." He released his grip on her shoulder, but kept his hand there in a friendly fashion. "I'll pay for your stockings, okay? But the jacket…" Makoto looked down at the offending article with a small, gentle cock of the head – "It's not school regulation, is it? I don't think neon pink is among the school colours, Ayane-san. I'm afraid I'll have to report this to the prefect, you know."

Haru watched with interest as Ayane's face switched through a wide array of colours – white, then red, then an enjoyable purplish-blue. She stammered and stuttered in response, trying to reply, but ended up giving off the impression of a balloon overfilled with air.

"You'll let me know how much the stockings cost, won't you?" Makoto continued, calmly, his face a mask of friendliness and placidity. "Of course, the detention room isn't a really good place to show off high quality stockings, but I suppose it'll have to do, won't it? See you, Ayane-san." He turned to go, but she caught his sleeve with trembling fingers and tried to speak.

"F-Forget the jacket," she mumbled, her tongue poking out to lick nervously at her tinted lip balm, "and I'll – I'll forget the stockings."

Makoto tapped his chin with a finger, his eyes widening innocently, but he kept walking, dragging her along the hallway "I don't know if I can do that," he began, but she interrupted him. Her breathing was fast, and her face was starting to resemble that of a deer caught in the headlights of a car. "I have two demerit points already, I can't get another or my parents will kill me – w-what do I have to do to convince you to drop it?" she babbled, the words spilling uncontrollably out of her mouth as she tugged pathetically at his sleeve and looked up at him beseechingly.

Makoto stopped. Turned to look at her. He smiled again, and this time Haru couldn't understand why Ayane wasn't spontaneously melting into the ground. "I didn't quite catch what you were saying to Haru," he said, his voice perfectly amiable, "but I don't think it was very polite, was it? I think you owe him an apology, Ayane."

"S-Sorry," she stammered, stumbling through the words. "I'm sorry." Haru could hear the confused panic in her voice, the tears she was trying to push down, and he couldn't help but feel sorry for her, but at the same time he felt repulsed – repulsed at the pathetic figure grovelling before them, so far removed from the confident, arrogant figure she had been before. He nodded slightly, accepting the apology, and yanked on Makoto's arm. Makoto saw the unspoken plea in his eyes, and smiled. This time, it was soft, calm, mild, and Haru felt his heart jump.

"Thank you, Ayane," Makoto purred, and she let go of his sleeve as if she had been burnt. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"God, that was merciless – and actually kind of hot," Haru heard Ayane's friend say as he and Makoto were walking away, her voice awed and just a tad bewildered. "You think they're really fucking?"

Haru backed up against the cold concrete wall of the stairwell, his tongue in Makoto's mouth and his senses in a mess. He could hear the obscene slick of their tongues sliding against each other, the frantic rustle of their hands at each other's clothes, the small moans of pleasure he was making as he felt Makoto grind up against him. He had never felt so thrilled, so exhilarated before, but the adrenaline from the Ayane incident and the blood rushing through his veins was sending him on a reckless high to which he saw no end.

They broke apart finally to breathe. The two of them were breathing hard, their pants echoing loudly in the deserted space. They leaned against each other for support, Makoto resting his head against Haru's chest, Haru gripping his forearms tightly to remain standing.

"Haru," Makoto whispered, and Haru made a noncommittal sound of inquiry. The taller man raised his head to meet his eyes, and Haru bit his lip at the shine in his eyes – from tears, or joy, he knew not which. "It made me happy to see how Haru defended me," he said, his voice soft, but thrumming with emotion. Haru blushed – so he had seen the exchange between them, the incident which had almost devolved into an altercation. He turned his head away to hide his flush, but a rough, calloused palm at his cheek forestalled the movement.

"Don't look away, Haru," Makoto murmured, his fingers almost-unconsciously tracing the blade of Haru's cheekbone. "It made me really happy to see you getting angry for my sake," he continued. "I – I didn't know you felt that strongly about me." Now it was his turn to blush, to turn away and rest his cheek against Haru's chest again. Haru looked down at the strong, muscled nape of his neck, saw the pink tinge to his ears, and his own lips curved ever so slightly. It was and always had been an adorable but comical sight, Makoto's large body bent almost double and relying on his own small frame for support.

"Don't be stupid," he muttered, remembering the words Makoto had uttered bare seconds before, remembering the anxious thrum which had run through them under the unrestrained happiness. "Of course – of course I'd defend you. You're important to me, after all." The last few words were trailed off, hesitant but unyielding.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, matching the sound of their breathing into the same pattern, the rise and fall of their chests synchronising, the beat of their hearts almost identical. Then Makoto lifted his head, and Haru was suddenly aware – too aware – of the dark glint in Makoto's eyes, of the hungry bare of his teeth – aware that, in front of him, was now a predator.

"Get on your knees, Haru," he said, his voice soft, "and beg for it."

Haru knelt down, and obeyed.

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