He had no thoughts about it. He just moved on instinct, reflexes activating with much more vigor and willpower than usual. His arm snapped through the air and he caught her by the ankle.
The breath gasped out of him, half with relief, half with dread, because what if … And she was still just there, exposed to the elements. She could get whisked away at any moment, right out of his hand.
He pulled, and the strap of her sandal snapped under his thumb. His heart dropped fully out of his gut in the split second that her shoe slipped free and she was out of his grasp for a fourth of a breath, but he lunged out further, catching her again, and this time he was sure not to let her slip away.
His sister.
What if he had never had one? What if he'd been an only child, or if Ren never came with a twin? What if it had been just the two of them? Soft-bellied boys with no tough-skinned sister to call them out for being so chicken-livered. She was quite necessary.
He missed the days when she was little. When he could pick her up without being out of breath, when she'd jump on his back and it was nothing. He missed being her guinea pig whenever she insisted on practicing her nail painting skills. And she used to let him braid her hair for her. He'd been so excited to learn, and even though he was atrocious at it starting out, he'd gotten rather good at it after only a short time. He missed being coerced into playing dolls, and Ran insisting that he was the most well-suited to play the mom. Ren, she always said, was only good enough to be the house pet. And though Makoto would softly chide her for picking on him like that, he did find it secretly amusing.
She couldn't be whisked away by the elements. That was not an option, so he pulled, and he grabbed the back of her vest with his other hand, and then he was able to get his fingers around her arm, and then she was safe again — pale-faced and out of breath, but safe. And he could breathe for just a second.
"Makoto!"
His dad tried to warn him — even left his post to run toward him, but it was too late for that.
It struck him. And then he woke up, and the dream was already forgotten.
He was breathing heavily, as though still there — though he didn't know where there was. He raised a shaking hand to the sweat on his forehead as he pushed himself up on his elbow. His fingers raked through his hair, rubbing at the back of his head for a moment.
The room was dark, and it unnerved him. Though the doors and curtains were closed, he could still hear the muted sounds of the ocean breathing outside, just on the other side of the wall, reaching up the sand in his direction with searching fingers.
His pulse was struggling to calm.
He pushed the duvet away and got out of bed, only to quietly open the door and peek into the equally dark living room. He couldn't see much of anything, but by straining his ears, he could hear the sound of soft breathing, and it was mildly comforting.
He hesitated there in the doorway, feet turning cold as he rocked his weight back and forth, as equally terrified as he was tempted.
In the end, he knew he was too unsettled to lay back down in the bed, so he took the pillow from it and tiptoed out of the room and up to the couch, where it was easier to see Haru sleeping, draped on his stomach with one arm curled under his cheek and the other hanging off of the cushions, fingertips dragging on the floor.
It was more calming, watching him for just a moment, seeing the fearless blank expression on his face that was not much different from when he was awake, but just a tad more at peace maybe. Makoto's heartbeat slowed, his breathing settled back down, and he was able to take a giant breath and sigh it all out as he sank to the floor and sat with his back to the foot of the couch, closer to Haru's legs. He huddled up there into a tight ball, knees pulled in, pillow folded around his arms between his legs and his chest. He rested his cheek on top of it and closed his eyes.
The next time he woke, it was to a familiar scent — something that immediately brought him back to Saturday afternoons as a child, when he was so small that his feet couldn't touch the floor when he was sitting at the table, so he would swing his heels back and forth to keep himself patient until his mother set a bowl in front of him.
His eyes opened, blinking blearily against the sunlight.
He was laying on the living room floor with the pillow under his cheek, and a throw blanket had made its way across his back. It wasn't the most comfortable place in the world to sleep, but he found himself surprisingly relaxed, and took his time fully coming to consciousness, remembering where he was and why. And though the home-sickness tried to pull in his stomach, it was having a hard time fighting against the hunger that was more present, and far more interested in what he was smelling.
He sat himself up slowly, allowing the blanket to fall away, and glanced around at all the seashells and dolphins which had started to become so familiar. And then he looked over his shoulder where he could see Haru from the shoulders up, moving around the kitchen.
It hardly took him two whole seconds to become aware of Makoto's gaze, and he looked up with those blue eyes that were becoming steadily more striking every time Makoto met them.
Haru's good morning greeting came in the form of, "It's pretty much done. Come take a seat." And then he turned away to the stove and Makoto could hear him moving dishes around.
He stood without question and stretched with a large yawn once he was at his full height, only just now feeling the tension in his back and neck. He winced but he wasn't dying, so he shuffled around the couch and took a seat on the stool at the island just in time for Haru to sit a bowl under his nose.
Makoto frowned — and then just sat there staring at it.
"Is it okay?" Haru asked, after a long enough silence had passed, during which Makoto didn't move.
Is it okay? he repeated to himself, trying to understand the question, trying to remember how to respond. But he was back at the table again, swinging his feet, and his mom brushed a hand through his hair, and his dad was sitting across the table with a smile. The twins didn't exist yet. But somehow he could feel their presence there too. Somehow it blended seamlessly with other memories of sitting between their high chairs, feeding Ren a bite, then feeding Ran a bite, then taking his own bite, and his parents found it amusing.
"Makoto?"
Makoto blinked, glancing back up to Haru whose expression was surprisingly anxious.
"Yeah," he found himself breathing, slowly reaching up for the spoon Haru had placed beside the bowl for him. He took a bite of the green curry and rice, and his eyes immediately stung at the corners, throat squeezing tight. He took a second and third bite before even bothering with the first swallow.
Haru was still watching him. "I've never made it before," he mumbled. "I don't think I've had it before either, so I don't know if it turned out —"
"It's perfect, Haru," Makoto said, somehow smiling, and still eating, and trying not to let the tears break away. "It's just like my mom's."
Haru seemed to sag a bit, lips turning down at the corners, but he didn't say anything, just nodded with a lot of something in his eyes and stood there watching as Makoto shoveled down the entire bowl, politely asking for seconds even before he could fully swallow the last bite. Haru refilled his bowl, and this time ate his own helping after rounding the counter to sit next to Makoto. And they both ate in silence.
He felt much better once his stomach was full to bursting, and he was proud of himself for managing not to cry at all. He breathed in a long pull of air and glanced over toward the front end of the cottage, realizing that the doors and windows were all closed and the regular sea breeze was not wafting through the room.
"The door's closed," he stated, turning to Haru, who was still sitting quietly beside him.
Haru had to lift his head from where he'd been staring at the counter. He glanced at the door, and the smallest of creases flittered across his brow before he looked to Makoto and it was gone again.
"I thought you'd be more comfortable," he mumbled.
Makoto smiled, tickled in a way he felt that he really shouldn't be. "You are much sweeter than you pretend to be, you know."
At this, Haru's expression snapped back to something normal and he rolled his eyes away with a tiny scowl, cheeks very lightly blushing. Makoto giggled.
"Cute," he teased, just to make sure it wasn't a fluke and the real Haru was still in there and alive.
"Cut it out," he grumbled in response, and Makoto was relieved with the response.
Haru had been quite sullen since they'd left the hospital yesterday, and Makoto didn't like the look on him. It made him uneasy. Haru had said it wasn't a bother to him that he was still around, but Makoto couldn't think of any other reason that he would be so suddenly upset after Makoto had ruined all of their plans to get him home by fainting.
He tried not to cringe about it.
"I don't know how you managed it, Haru, but you flawlessly pulled off making my favorite dish and made it taste just like home. I couldn't ask for anything better. Thank you."
"That's too much. Thank you by itself is more than enough. I don't know why you do that."
"Because just saying 'thank you' doesn't nearly cover the way that I feel."
Haru sighed and finally looked back at him. Makoto lifted his smile.
"What do you want to do today?" Haru asked, turning his eyes back down as he fidgeted with his half-empty bowl, scraping the spoon around what was left in it.
Makoto didn't have to think about it, because he already knew. He grabbed at the stool between his knees, elbows straight, shoulders serious, and he inhaled a courageous breath before responding with, "Can you help me — get over my fear of the ocean?"
Haru kept his gaze away for a moment, still fidgeting. There was an edge of something that looked like despair lining his jaw, and Makoto wondered about it, wondered about the twitch of dread in his eyebrow and the strain in his cheek, but he smoothed it all away with his own inhale, and finally looked up again.
"Why don't we ease into that? … We should start with something else."
Makoto's grip tightened around the stool, but a large part of him was admittedly quite relieved, so arguing wasn't even a thought. He nodded. "Okay. Like what?"
Haru looked away again. "I saw some cherries that were ready to be picked on our way back yesterday. We can go see what else we can harvest."
Makoto allowed a soft smile onto his lips and nodded again. "Okay."
So they set out after cleaning up the curry mess — which they did together, because Makoto insisted on being helpful, and Haru didn't seem to have the spirit in him to decline.
There was a field a short distance back from the cliffside, which was just visible through the trees on the mountain path they'd taken to and from town. Makoto didn't know how Haru had seen the ripened cherry trees from that vantage point, but he somehow had, and was correct about the full bunches of fruit that were more than ready to be picked. So they spent a decent hour doing just that, and admittedly, the bag that Haru had given Makoto ended up only half full, because he ate every other cherry that he pulled from the branches. At least Haru seemed to find this amusing. Makoto caught just the ghost of a smile on his lips when Haru thought he wasn't looking. It made him smile too.
They then moved onto plucking tomatoes off of vines, and Haru showed him how to dig ginger roots and potatoes out of the earth. Their arms were covered in dirt up to their elbows after that, but they ventured into the trees to look for mushrooms, and Makoto paid very close attention while Haru explained which ones were what kinds and what needed to be avoided due to toxins that would either kill them or make them intensely sick.
He found it fascinating, and was impressed by Haru's thorough knowledge of the land around him and what it was capable of providing. He could tell that all of this was something that Haru had grown up with, something he'd been taught by his grandmother, who was proving to be more and more of a godsend as Makoto continued to learn about her.
He'd never met her, but he wished he could have. She'd clearly been the tool behind shaping Haru into who he was now, which was a truly admirable and self-sufficient person who could do seemingly anything he wanted to. He had the knowledge, he had the skill, he had the right levels of respect for the earth and sea alike. He was awe-inspiring, and Makoto was rapt with attention, eager to learn whatever he could from him, to grow to have the same level of respect for this environment, and whatever ones he eventually returned to.
He liked gathering, and felt much more reverence and gratitude for the fresh produce and all of their findings than he had when he'd first opened Haru's refrigerator on an empty stomach.
They spent most of the afternoon foraging, so they ate whatever was left over of the curry, then set to work cleaning and preparing their findings to be eaten later. Haru told him about all the varying fruits and vegetables that were freely available to them and where they could be found, and how little or how much care-taking needed to be involved in maintaining certain things. He was surprised that, for the most part, there was nothing to do but let things grow and then go get them, and he found nature to be truly incredible because of that. So once they were done dealing with their haul, he riffled through Maho's books and found a few that were dedicated to gardening and foraging, and he took his time studying them and asking Haru questions.
Haru made saba shioyaki with roasted tomatoes and rice for dinner, and a cherry tart for dessert. Makoto found that he was thoroughly entertained with watching Haru cook, and somehow even happier to be allowed to wash the dishes as Haru finished with them, giving them more opportunity to figure out how to navigate being in the kitchen at the same time, which wasn't difficult at all. He felt they created a rather nice flow actually, and didn't mind quietly running utensils under the faucet while Haru flipped things on the stove behind him.
Everything Haru fed him was amazing, and he was beginning to wonder if maybe the foods he'd been eating that weren't to his liking had just never been prepared the right way. Either way, he decided to enjoy this while he had it, and felt just the inkling of thankfulness that he had the opportunity to get acquainted with Haru's cooking for a little bit longer.
It was a graciously peaceful day, and Makoto found himself much less distressed about not being able to make it home. He attributed all of that to his host, who had become much warmer overnight, and Makoto couldn't tell if that was because Haru pitied him, or if he had finally accepted the fact that Makoto was just going to be there with him. Either way, he was glad that that tenderness existed and that Haru was willing to show it. And he had a restful and dreamless night that night.