His human's skin was the softest of golds under the morning sun. His hair like the color of deep sand, which was pleasing. He was so much like the land, where Haru was like the sea, and the sand was always where those two reaches of the Earth came together to meet. He found himself fond of the poetry of it, and even smiled, fingers delicately stroking the length of Makoto's spine.
Even at rest, there was so much strength in his back, and Haru watched as he breathed evenly, undisturbed and at complete peace. He was sleeping on his side, blanket low on his bare waist. Haru stayed silent behind him, temple propped up on his palm, elbow in the corner of the pillow. He'd been observing him for the past several minutes with no desire to wake him — and for several reasons.
It was surreal, dreamlike even to still be half-seated in so much peace, and if he wanted to slip fully into it, he could — just like he had last night, tossing everything that was not his Makoto to the side, so that he could just be with him, and it was the most blissful night he'd ever had.
He'd forgotten, across the past two years, what happiness felt like. He'd never even realized how thoroughly it had dissolved out of his life, ghosting away without a sound, leaving him in a numbness that he'd been unaware of, surviving day-to-day through muscle memory without any true indication of actual life in him. But Makoto had reformed all of that, making him suddenly aware of how many black holes had been tearing at his insides by filling them all up in a single moment, so that they were no more, and he was left so wholly relieved that he hadn't been able to do anything but relish the moment, let it be, rest in it.
But the sun had risen, bringing with it a new timer — or maybe the end of an old timer, depending on how he wanted to look at it. Either way, he couldn't let the seconds keep ticking by, and he knew it. It had been far long enough — too long — and the consummation of their devotion to one another had only fused their hearts together into one harmonized thread. This was his mate. And he could not hold things from his Makoto without hurting himself in the process. He wished he could get away with taking all of the hurt for him, but they were no longer two separate entities. Haru's hurt would find a way to hurt Makoto too, even if in different ways, and he knew that kind of pain would only come born of toxic deception.
His Makoto could not be kept in the dark. Haru didn't want him there. And he would never be able to stop himself from frowning at random moments, thinking about Makoto's innocence and knowing he was harboring the one piece of information that would destroy it. And every time he frowned, Makoto would also stop smiling, and he would continue to look down at Haru with pain in his eyes, already sharing in Haru's distress without even knowing why — and that just simply made it all worse.
He didn't want to tell him. He didn't know how to tell him. He didn't know how to break his heart, and there was no part of him that would ever wish for that knowledge. But it was an inevitability that he knew he could not escape from. Makoto would very soon remember that he wanted to return to his family, that he wanted Haru to meet them and be fed by them and be bombarded with questions and affections.
He'd dreamt of that the other night, meeting Makoto's family. He didn't know their faces, but his subconscious seemed to have no problem with that. Makoto's mother was beautiful and kind, his father was towering and generous. His brother and sister were rambunctious, and their smiles were just as bright and genuine as their older brother's. He'd dreamt that they'd all greeted him with hugs, as though they'd known him forever, and they said that they were happy he was watching over Makoto.
Yuna's gratitude had been the most bone-chilling detail of it all. He distinctly remembered, could almost feel the softness of her hands as she touched his cheeks and smiled a very sad, very warm smile, green eyes glimmering with unshed tears as she whispered, "Thank you" just before she stroked back his hair — exactly the way a mother would. He'd woken with tears in the corners of his eyes, and it was alarming.
It would be just as much an egregious crime to Makoto's family as it would be to Makoto, if he remained silent.
He could feel the grimace setting in already, could feel the pulling weight on his heart. He leaned in closer to Makoto and slid an arm around his waist, touching his nose to his shoulder. His Makoto smelled like a spring breeze. It was a comfort, but it wouldn't drown out the dread — not just now.
Makoto stirred, breath pulling in deeply, and Haru stayed clinging to him as he stretched, voice groaning tiredly, before he settled back down with a hum and rested a hand on top of Haru's, thumb stroking his.
"You awake?"
Haru nodded, and tucked his frown against his back, heart pounding.
"Storm's over," Makoto said, head turning to get a better look out the glass door at the blue of the sky. "We should go for a swim."
Haru peeked up when he felt Makoto's gaze fall on him and found him smiling playfully over his shoulder.
He tried to make himself say it exactly then, but it was impossible with the way that his Makoto was looking at him. He couldn't so abruptly hammer that brightness away. He inhaled.
"We should go for a swim? Or I should go for a swim so you have an excuse to stare at my tail?"
"The sun's out," Makoto said coyly, turning his eyes up to the ceiling, though there was a grin still in the corner of his lips. "You don't have to swim with your tail."
"But you'll ask me to."
Makoto pursed his lips, smile still there. He did not respond.
His human was so handsome, and it was gut-wrenching. His spirit was so youthful, and it was agonizing. He had so much heart in him, so much hope in him, so much trust in him, and it was soul-sucking.
Haru's stomach turned. He pulled his lips out from hiding only to stretch up and eagerly kiss at Makoto's neck, vibrating instantly at the intensity of his scent and the warmth of his skin. Makoto curled his fingers around his hand, squeezing lightly, giving Haru more access to his neck with a small incline of his chin.
Haru allowed the turmoil to swirl around in his stomach, allowed it to mix intensely with a natural need and instinctive want to be even closer to his human. The combination made for a nauseating vat of raw passion that bubbled through his veins. He could think of nothing else to do than to feed the emotion to his mate through touch, through closeness. He desperately wanted not to have to speak the words out loud, not to have to pull the despair out of the air by himself. But more than that, he didn't want the first thing he gave his Makoto today to be grief.
"Can I give back to you now?" he whispered, lips brushing the corner of Makoto's jaw, and he could feel the thrilling shiver that followed.
Makoto laced their fingers together and pulled Haru's hand up to his lips to kiss his palm. "I would love nothing more."
They remained on their sides, jar of aloe vera half used up already. Makoto was much less tense about being intruded by Haru's fingers, and his breath was so sweet-sounding — so much so that Haru nearly forgot the inherent point of the preparation, and would have continued to pleasure his mate in that way if Makoto hadn't eventually breathed how urgently he needed him. And Haruka could not ignore a plea like that.
The good news was, his Makoto sounded even prettier with Haru inside of him, and he found himself riddled with goosebumps. It was intensely different. No one way was better or worse than the other, and Haru could now understand what Makoto meant by saying he didn't mind either way.
The clench of Makoto's body around him was unbearable, and yet no amount of thrusting could satiate it for the longest time.
He used to not really get the point of it — his "human" appendage. It was a little different from the way his reproductive system was arranged in his natural form. His first encounter with it had been quite … uncomfortable. It took about as much getting used to as walking did, and even still he hadn't found much of a use for it other than relieving himself. It got in the way constantly and was just kind of there, attached to him with nowhere to go. He much preferred clothing that kept it snuggly in place enough that he could forget about it throughout the day, but inevitably there were those times when it became erect without his prompting, and he would just sigh, barely inclined to do anything about it.
In this situation though — it made so much more sense, and he was all of a sudden grateful that he could inhabit a human-like body. The sensation was incredible, and it was no wonder Makoto had seemed to become an entirely different person the night before.
Even the simple act of snapping his hips up enrobed him ever deeper into a primal state of being that acted of its own accord, already knowing what to do and how to move — including how to hold Makoto's big-boy thigh up with a tight grip, lifting his knee toward his chest.
They never left that position. Makoto ended up cumming before they could even think to, and Haru was so surprised, and so thoroughly aroused, that he came only seconds later.
And he breathed with his face pressed against the top of Makoto's spine, enticed all the more by the way that his human sweat, and the pure pheromones that seeped out of every inch of his skin. He squeezed at the muscles of his thigh, then ran his hand up his stomach and across his chest, feeling the sculpted strength of him, and wanting to take him all over again.
"I don't suppose you'd let me make you breakfast?" Makoto said, still breathless.
Haru shook his head and kissed the back of his neck. "Let me feed you."
"Okay," he agreed easily.
So they got up, and maybe they did go for another quick round after deciding to take another bath together, which almost defeated the purpose of getting cleaned up, but they got to that eventually, and then finally dressed, and Makoto sat at the island with his cheek in his hand and a smile on his lips, watching Haru cook, and Haru could feel the rock solidifying in his stomach.
He let his Makoto eat in peace, allowed a moment of quiet while they cleaned the kitchen together afterward, and then Haru's fingers began to turn numb as he set the last plate down with a knot in his throat.
"Take a walk with me?" he whispered toward the counter, unable to even look up at him.
Makoto's response was to of course smile, and then cup a hand at the back of his hair and kiss the top of his head.
That didn't make it any better.
They held hands on the beach, and his Makoto was uncharacteristically calm. He gazed out at the horizon with a smile and a look of peace in his eyes, and Haru wanted to curse the sea. He wanted to throw himself into the waves and scream. Why put so much fear in him, and then give Haru a burden to transfer to him only in the moment that he'd just begun to trust again?
"The water's so beautiful today."
Haru did not respond. And it was because of this that Makoto eventually stopped walking and pulled him to a halt as well. He was still smiling, but it was a tender and intuitive kind of smile, one that communicated he was not at all blind to the way that Haru's heart was murdering his chest.
"Haru," he said, voice gentle. He cupped a hand up under his jaw and stroked his cheek with his thumb. "You're doing it again — and it's making me sad."
Haru couldn't meet his gaze, and it was because he knew exactly what was in his eyes. He couldn't stomach the concern, couldn't absorb the adoration. He was beginning to feel like he couldn't breathe — and as much as he was bitter with the sea right now, every inch of him itched to dive under the water and inhale the oxygen of the deep. It was always so much easier to breathe than air to him.
He placed his hand on top of Makoto's. "I have something to tell you."
Makoto stood just slightly leaned over enough to feel level with him, even though he was still taller. Everything about him came to meet Haru where he was, and Haru selfishly immersed himself in that comfort as much as he could.
He struggled to part his lips again. He knew Makoto could see the battle on his face. His demeanor became that much more docile and understanding, even though he had no idea. The breath he exhaled was a sigh of empathy.
"There's a weight on your shoulders," he said. "It's been there for weeks now. I don't like to see it pull you down, Haru. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I want to carry it with you."
Haru immediately shook his head, eyes looking up. "No, you don't."
His Makoto was no longer smiling, and so visibly seeing all the turmoil that Haru was allowing to show made a crease form on his brow. Though, when he spoke, his voice was resolute and confident. "Yes, I do. I want to share everything with you, even your sorrows. There's nothing that you should have to face on your own, not while I'm here with you."
Haru grimaced. "They're not my sorrows, Makoto … They're yours."
Makoto didn't understand this of course, and it showed on his face. Haru knew he wouldn't be able to do this looking him in the eye — as much as he knew it was the respectful thing to do. He didn't want to see the moment. He didn't think he'd be able to endure it. So he reached up and pulled Makoto close, guiding his head down to his shoulder so that he could hug his neck and be close to his ear. Makoto's arms automatically hugged him in return, and Haru had to take a moment to grimace toward the sky, begging frailly one last time that he didn't have to do this.
But the sea was still there — and the sea had decided even before his Makoto had made it to him. The sea could not be argued with.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, unable to fight off the tremble in his arms. "Your family's gone."
Makoto's fingers squeezed him gently, to assure him he heard, though the stillness of him communicated that these words just barely made it past his ears. He was quiet for a very long time, and Haru could feel his heartbeat through his back.
"I don't know what you mean, Haru," he said finally, his voice soft, mumbled into Haru's shoulder.
Haru's fingers gripped the back of his shirt. "I think … your parents got you your sailboat — to celebrate you finishing school. And they probably took you and your siblings out for a picnic when you came home to visit …" His throat tried to close again, but he refused to allow it. He squeezed his eyes shut and held onto his Makoto as tightly at he could. "You got caught up in a storm that day, and somehow, you must have fallen out of the boat. The dolphin who brought you here, he saved you. But your family … they didn't make it."
He could feel it in the sudden tension, in the way Makoto's body seized. It sank in a little bit deeper this time, but he shook his head.
"No, I- … That's not … I would have remembered that."
Haru forced himself to breathe evenly, holding Makoto together as the heat began to radiate out of his body, and his heart thrummed frantically. He shifted, but Haru did not loosen his hold.
"You were injured when you got here, Makoto," he explained, as calmly as he knew how. "You were covered in bruises, there was a gash across your chest, and your hair was full of blood."
Makoto's fingers clenched, arms absently pushing as though trying to break away, but Haru did not allow it. "No, I was fine," he argued. "There was … I felt perfectly fine when I woke up. There was nothing wrong."
"I asked the sea to help me heal you. It's something my grandmother showed me how to do, something that only beings of the sea can pull off. You weren't conscious at the time."
Makoto's arms pushed harder. "Haru …"
Haru raked his fingers through his hair, trying to calm him, aware of his breathing. "When we were at the hospital … there was a story on the news. A sailboat had gotten caught in a storm not far off the coast of the Tottori prefecture. There was a family on board, a man and a woman, and their two teenage children. None of them survived."
"Haru …"
Makoto's body was trembling, his voice uneven. He still tried to pull away, but Haru kept him there. His eyes remained closed. He couldn't have opened them if he wanted to.
"I sent the dolphin who saved you back to find out where you came from. He found the boat. He was the one who got the humans' attention so they could find the wreckage. He told me about it, and I … I went to look for myself. That's why I was gone yesterday."
Makoto shook his head. "No."
"Makoto …"
"No."
"I saw the boat."
"Let go of me."
"It had the name on it — Namiko."
"I said let go of me." His voice was venomous, growling out through his teeth with a silent threat, so Haru obeyed.
The moment he loosened his hold, Makoto ripped himself away, green eyes bright and glaring directly at him. He stood at his full height, skin red with heat, chest heaving with air. His jaw was taut, and for a moment seemed unable to unlock itself, but he took a step forward, towering over Haru, and made sure the words he spoke were clear and that Haru could feel them to his core.
"That is not true."
Haru said nothing. He knew that he couldn't. There weren't any words that would force him to accept it, so he dropped his gaze and turned away to walk toward the cliffs. He could feel the radiation of both anger and confusion emitting from where Makoto stood, like desert heatwaves.
"Haru—"
"Stay right there," he said over his shoulder.
Makoto did not move.
It was hard — to put one foot in front of the other when his legs felt so numb, so detached from his body, so unreal. It wasn't at all unlike the first time he'd tried them, only this seemed to be worse somehow — even as he managed to keep his balance all the way down the beach.
He slipped into the rocks and picked his way along the tunnel, climbing up to the ledge over the underwater cave where the sandal had not moved since the day he'd put it there. His heart was already trying to fall out of his stomach and his hand shook when he reached out to pick it up.
He forced himself to hold it all in, suck it up. The more emotionally charged Makoto got, the calmer he needed to be. There had to be balance. He didn't want to know what would happen to them otherwise. So he breathed as he picked his way back out into the sunlight and walked back up the beach where he'd left his human, willing his knees not to liquefy beneath him.
Makoto was standing incredibly still, eyes staring out at the horizon again, but not an ounce of that peace remained. Instead his gaze was brimming with terror, with desperation. His eyes had already developed a glossy shine, and Haru could practically see the way that his heart was trying to claw its way out of his chest.
He turned his head just as Haru made it back to him, and Haru held out the shoe. Makoto looked down at it, allowing Haru to place it delicately in his hand.
For a solid minute, he gave no reaction. Everything behind his eyes went blank, and he got lost somewhere — somewhere very far away, and Haru had no idea how to read that or bring him back, but he wouldn't have dared to try.
He took a silent step back, giving Makoto his space, because it seemed necessary, and he said nothing. He let it come to him, the realization, and it took an incredibly long while. So much so that Haru began to entertain half a hope that Makoto didn't recognize the shoe, that it would turn out it belonged to someone else and they could stop fretting about this. But to his despair, Makoto's fingers brushed over the straps very intimately, as though he in fact knew the sandal very well.
His fingers pinched at the broken buckle, and that was the moment that his eyes welled up with tears.
Haru hadn't wanted to see this part, but he couldn't look away from it now, and it tore him apart to watch — to see the crease form on Makoto's brow, to witness the unfathomable, unreadable agony swim up behind his eyes. His lip trembled and his head tipped to the side as though he had no strength to hold it up.
"Ran," was the first thing that left his lips and it was dripping with anguish. He closed his eyes and his head shook, tears breaking down his cheeks.
"No~" he moaned. "No no …" He gasped for a breath and dropped to his knees in the sand, body hiccupping with quiet sobs only for a short moment before his lungs found enough air to wail out a scream.
Haru's heart shattered on the spot.
Makoto rocked, one hand clutching his sister's sandal, the other uselessly gripping the sand. "No no no … No!" He tipped all the way forward, burying his forehead and sobbed another broken cry.
His voice echoed, the suffering in it sat on the air, silencing everything else in the cove, and probably even beyond. The birds could feel it, and out of solidarity for the grieving they did not beat their wings, and their morning song ceased. The land went still, holding like a giant palm, carrying the man who scratched at it. Even the beings of the sea stopped moving, because they could feel Makoto's tears as they fell into the sand and were picked up by the waves. Haru could hear the orca, moaning a song of sorrow just off shore, joined in unity by his mate, and theirs were the only voices that wailed with Makoto.
"Mama!" he cried. And that was when Haru turned away, unable to withstand anymore, though there was no way to escape it.
His legs automatically took him knee-deep into the tide, yards away from where his Makoto fell to pieces, and he stopped there, staring out at the endless stretch of blue and its deceitful harmlessness. Makoto's sobs rang in his ears and shook his core so violently that he was thrown back to that moment — that one moment that he always made sure never to remember, but it stared him in the face now.
A two-years-ago Haru, knees in the wet sand, unable to breathe as everything writhed within him and he screamed out in pain, but there was no one there to hear him. The waves washed over his grandmother's lifeless body and she became nothing more than sea foam, far before he was ready. Her knobbled hands were gone, blue eyes and crow's feet gone, wry smile and infinite wisdom gone, beautiful sea green tail — gone. Just like that. As though nobody cared for her, as though she left nothing behind, as though she didn't have a boy who needed her, who hadn't figured out how to live alone yet, who didn't know what to do with her absence. He was not prepared to be grown, not prepared for the realization that he had no one else. He was lost immediately.
And it looked just exactly like this.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and it took will to breathe in — and even more to part his lips to speak. It was a whisper, not of anger, but of sincerity.
"I hate you."