Chapter Text
Summer’s stifling in Haru’s house. The humidity’s unbearable as Makoto lounges in front of the little, blue desk fan Haruka had set up for him on the floor. He’d originally been upright, waiting as Haru put a jug of ice-cold water together. Makoto hadn’t remained so for long.
He’d realised too late that he shouldn’t have stripped down to his underwear. Makoto’s stretched flat on his stomach, a melting glob of cheese sat out in the sun too long, his sweat plastering him to the wooden floorboards beneath him. But he’s there now, and the fan blowing in his face, mussing his brown hair, feels heavenly and Makoto’s not at all inclined to exert what little energy he’s managed to retain on moving.
Makoto sighs, his pink cheek squeaking against now damp wood; it’s hot.
He’s almost dozing when he hears the sharp clink of glass against ice, then Haru’s soft, sticky steps as he plods quietly into the room. Makoto doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even have the energy to twitch, but Haru knows he’s alive and pours him a glass before settling himself with his legs crossed on the floor.
He’s leaning against the wall, glass held in two hands and up against his chest. The condensation gathers around his fingers, and Makoto can’t help but watch as a particularly adventurous durge of water finds its way between Haru’s nimble fingers and races hazardous line down to his elbow. Haru doesn’t blink when it drops into his swimmer clad lap.
“You should drink some, Haru.” He can’t help but say, as the minutes pass them by, “We don’t want you to dehydrate.” He smiles kindly, though he knows Haru can pick up the teasing tone to his voice.
He’d found Haru in a cold bath when he’d arrived that morning. His hands, so much smaller than Makoto’s own shovels, had been wrinkled and white, looking more like wet tissue paper than the skin of a highschooler. Apparently he’d slept there overnight.
“So should you.” Haru eventually replies, with the tall glass pressed to his bottom lip.
“Hold the glass for me?”
Haru regards him with an unimpressed stare that makes Makoto chuckle. His eyes widen then, as Haru leans forward. He curls his legs under him just as he grasps Makoto’s glass and swiftly, unceremoniously dumps the water over the back of Makoto’s shoulders.
It’s like someone stabbed him and he yelps like it too. It’s not the most dignified noise and Makoto feels his cheeks flush even more as Haru’s cool gaze regards him. Makoto fights against curling up as he attempts to get over the sudden cold against heated skin. Then his eyes are open and watching carefully as Haru leans to adjust the fan so it’s pointed up and is blowing a heavenly breeze over Makoto’s shoulders.
Then Makoto is laughing quietly as Haru straddles him, strong thighs framing his own. It’s a position they’re very familiar with. With Makoto splayed beneath Haru as Haru settles himself across Makoto’s broad back, sucking at the water pooling between his shoulder blades, before he’s scorching Makoto with his own tanned skin. Makoto knows he’s settled when his chin rests at the junction between Makoto’s shoulder and neck. Haru’s hands trace along Makoto’s fore-arms until he can grasp loosely at his broader hands. The taller boy squeezes them tight for just a second, before loosening his grip, their fingers like limp noodles in a pot.
It’s hot, and Makoto feels like he’s being cooked slowly. They’re both too sticky, the air is too hot, stifling, and perhaps this is one of those times when Haru will let him join him in the bath?
Still, Makoto thinks with another sigh, his attention trained on the mildly painful way Haru is digging his chin into his shoulder, he’ll be sure to enjoy this for as long as that pitcher contains water and ice.