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Rin stands in Haru's doorway with his bag slung over his shoulder and damp splotches on his hoodie and hat. The drizzle that had soaked Rin has evolved to torrential by now; Haru would have mistaken Rin’s knocking for a round of thunder if he hadn't been perched before his door, expectant with childlike eagerness.
“We can’t go for a run in this,” he says as greeting, another thump of thunder supporting his cause and echoing his pulse. Though his body feels like it’s preparing for a run; palms clammy, breath short, mouth wet, throat dry. He shuts the door behind Rin as Rin kicks his wet sneakers off.
“That’s funny, coming from you,” Rin teases, smiling at Haru from under the brim of his cap. Haru falters in relieving Rin of his sports bag; once upon a time there was nothing he wanted to do more than soak in any water he can get his body in or under. Back when he had priorities, like mackerel and bi-daily baths, and wasn't governed by a reign of flustering emotions, sticky briefs, visions of Rin and Rin's lips.
He glances at them now, stretched into a pink smirk, and wonders if they’re cold and salty from the storm outside. Rin cocks his eyebrow at him.
“You gonna let me in?” he urges, and Haru steps aside so they can move away from the door. He plops Rin’s bag by their shoes. Rin eyes him over his shoulder.
“We can’t slack off on our training, you know,” comes his textbook warning, complementary sharky frown tugging at his lips, and when Haru steps up into the living room their shoulders knock. Rin faces him, dragging his hair, damp at its tips, back into a ponytail. He might have sighed, “what a pain,” but Haru isn’t sure; he’s too busy making a study of Rin’s mouth to hear what’s coming from it.
He looks back up at Rin before he gets caught, but Rin isn’t looking at his eyes. And this is how it always starts.
“We can do something else,” Haru says, and before his next inhale Rin steps to him and pulls him up into the kiss.
The first time, it happened in poolwater rather than mere traces of rainwater, as, Haru supposes, most things do. Rin had tasted like chlorine and now he tastes like a storm. Haru backs Rin into the wall and chases after his lips—which are cold, and hungry, and pliant—while Rin mutters a cheeky “something else” before grasping Haru's face and guiding the angle of his jaw. Haru thinks he should like to stay here all evening, diving into each other like it's been ages and not a day and a half. Rin tips his head and his hat slides off; Haru catches it by his shoulder. He licks his lips in that moment of reprieve, nose nudging at the tip of Rin’s.
“Do you want anything to eat?” Haru asks, trying to remember how to be a good host and how to breathe. He almost tacks on a before we lose track of hours but refrains, head whirring like an old fan. Rin’s sigh puffs against his chin. It'd be as easy as gravity, leaning in again.
“Yes,” Rin says, and then seems to choke on air for a second, “No. I—nn—no,” he stutters like this for another guttural moment, maybe Haru should put his mouth out of misery, and then, “My shirt’s wet.”
Haru knows this, he holds a fistful of it. He blinks at him as Rin snatches his hat back and frowns.
“Can I borrow another shirt,” he grumbles, looking like he didn't think he should have had to elaborate. On accident, Haru dips toward him again, as if a fishing line hooked on his lip towed him in. Rin’s eyes go big and he dips in too, just as Haru stutters back out with a dazed jerk of his head, realizing what Rin had said, or that he had spoken at all. He swallows hard, watching Rin retract, tilt his head and rub the back of his neck.
“Yes,” Haru says, because Rin had asked him a question, right, and Rin scrunches his face at him. Haru swallows again like there’s something clogging his throat. And then he leads Rin to his room, willing himself to not get lost along the way.
"Give me a different one," Rin growls, before Haru even hands him the one he usually lends him. Rin accepts it when he offers, though, pulling his own, splattered with slow-drying rain-drops, over his head. Haru takes it from him and spreads it on the back of his chair to dry.
“It’s the only shirt I have left,” he reasons, biting the inside of his cheek. He’s sure Rin is still frowning at him even when the shirt covers his face as he tugs it on. He sticks his arms through the sleeves and drags the fabric down his stomach, glowering at the cartoon fish on his chest. Haru wants to be as on him as that shirt is. The thought shakes him more than the thunder just overhead.
“Liar,” Rin snaps, settling down on the edge of Haru’s bed, unaware of the storm in Haru’s brain. Haru sits beside him; his ankle knocks into Rin’s—a greenlight as good as any, they both figure. Rin may not be completely unaware, or maybe it’s that Haru is not the only one pining; like magnets they both converge, they both know when to purse or part their lips, to meet in the middle and hold their breath.
Haru doesn’t know how he knows how to kiss. It must be primitive instinct to him, like blinking or freestyle swimming. Kissing is alive. But if he starts to think about bared fangs and thrusting fingers and sliding through openings he might get a little too primal for his comfort. So he doesn’t think much at all. Rin’s head tilts, Haru’s tilts the other way; Haru nips Rin’s upper lip between both of his own, Rin’s mouth falls open to suck in a breath; Rin slips his tongue past Haru’s, Haru pushes Rin down onto the bed and things get horizontal from there.
“Lights,” Rin murmurs, stretching out and scooting back until his head nudges the wall, his cheek on Haru’s pillow.
“Hm,” Haru replies, not hearing him, crawling over to him, still hooked by the fishing line, stopping when Rin’s palm meets his chest.
“You can hit the lights,” Rin repeats, voice hoarse, eyes glittery in the spotlight of Haru's lamp. Haru pauses to think about how Rin could show him a sight he hasn’t seen before if the room is pitch black. He almost topples off the bed reaching for his lamp. He twists the knob of it in two clicks until the room grows dark, the only light filtered by his curtains. He finds Rin again, hands gripping arms, baited breath, and Rin reels him in. Haru rests on his side and Rin’s arm cradles his head; Rin's hand grapples with the collar of Haru’s shirt until he can yank it, until his mouth can open rough against Haru’s.
“Why do you want it so dark?” Haru asks in a trembling breath between a kiss, the question coming out against the corner of Rin’s lips. Haru can hardly see his face, gilded by a tint of silvery light, so he keeps his eyes shut. Rin kisses him and makes an ‘I don’t know’ noise into it.
“It feels like night,” he whispers, his words hot as they mix with Haru’s panting. They kiss, “It’s,” he pauses, “nice.”
Haru can see Rin when he was young with a carefree smile saying romantic, right, and he opens his eyes to escape the vision, chest giving a throb he didn’t consent to. Lightning flares just outside, and Haru hums, chasing closer to the Rin in his arms. Gross squelching and saliva-y sucking noises rival the machine gun rain on his window. What they do is always embarrassing to think back on, but while it’s happening Haru can only crave the heat in his cheeks, revel in his acrobatic stomach. The press of Rin’s belly against his own, the warm and wet of Rin’s mouth. He moves closer. Rin has always been able to quench something in him when water wasn’t enough but he's insatiable for this. It’ll be his downfall, his supervillain-moge origin story, so long as Rin keeps doing that thing with his tongue in Haru’s mouth.
Haru’s eyes flutter open again; he sees eyelashes fanned against cheeks that feel flushed against his palm. Haru’s swollen lips bruise as he moves them against Rin’s, he bites Rin and he swallows his breath and Rin gives it all back. Rin smells good, like something Haru wants to tuck his nose against, and he’s warmed up now that Haru has him in his bed. Maybe too warmed up, maybe lit on fire but Haru still rolls into him, maybe if he gets close enough they’ll melt.
His hand slides into Rin’s hair, thumb on his cheek; his other is pins and needles under his side. Rin still grips his collar close like a leash, stretching his shirt out of shape. Lips meet over and over in a rolling rhythm, so repetitive it’s erotic, though Haru's no expert on that. But being this close to Rin, knowing the inside of Rin’s mouth so intimately makes his hips want to move in ways he’s only abstractly thought about.
Rin mutters something between a kiss, Haru makes a humming noise with a question mark at the end.
“I said,” he starts, and Haru interrupts him with a smacking kiss, but he continues with an exhale of a laugh, “You’re on top of me.”
He is; they take up one-fourth of his one-person bed. Chest to chest, Rin’s back flat against the wall. Haru makes a gruff noise of realization and moves to make space, but Rin holds him still, gripping his arm. Then he turns and tugs, gets himself under Haru's weight. When Haru has him anchored to his mattress like this he remembers how solid Rin is—his chest and torso, the hands that curl around Haru’s arms. He always thinks of Rin as fluid. Maybe that’s why he wants to corner him in and tie him tight, like he’s a balloon about to soar away with a cheery grin of a goodbye, with not as much permanence as Haru might like.
He meets Rin’s upturned lips fast, sucks him in like an undertow. Gets his thumb under Rin’s chin. Licks into him, learns the roof of his mouth with the flat of his tongue. Rin’s hand leaps to the nape of his neck, drags up into his hair, curls him down as if they could get any closer than they are. He drags his teeth back along Haru's lip and Haru thinks he'll be having dreams of this for weeks.
When he catches his breath, resting his cheek against Rin’s, nosing against his neck, he expects a dig from Rin about stamina and a childish pinch to his waist, which is what usually happens. Instead Rin kisses along his jaw and down his neck; something creaks like an old door opening and Haru realizes its his own throat making that noise. Rin breathes his name into the tender skin behind his ear: Haru—and it’s a good thing too because Haru had forgotten it by now, and Rin kisses under his chin and moans and his hand rubs parallel to Haru's spine and he moves his knee until it brackets Haru’s hips and Haru needs to
The rain knocks on his window, reminding him that clarity exists. He suddenly holds Rin at an arm’s length, like he’s about to do a push-up right on top of him. Rin gazes up at him like one might at stars or another at pools, holding his breath.
“I,” Haru says, voice gravelly like he’d been screaming, “need to feel the water now.”
He ignores Rin’s spluttering haah?! and the curving pout of his mouth, because he doesn’t know how to articulate a couple certain things to Rin. Doesn’t know how to say, if you keep doing that to my body my penis is about to do something that makes me wish I hadn’t fallen asleep in health class. If you keep pulling me closer and kissing me my chest might hurt in ways I only thought happened in those movies you claim not to like. He gets himself out of bed and wonders if Rin feels similarly, then immediately stops his wandering mind for the sake of cooling off. His heart pumps loud between his ears and between somewhere else. He doesn’t bother slipping into shoes before going out, he slides open the door and he shuts it again behind him before the elements encroach on his living room.
For a second he fears that the rainwater pattering on every square inch of his exposed skin might make things worse downstairs. But water as a calming force proves to be a dependable constant, one of the seemingly few in his life. Unless Rin’s in the water, in the lane beside him. Then, Haru’s rather riled up. And especially if Rin’s in the water in the lane beside him, leaning over the barrier and tugging on the goggles around Haru's neck and lowering his eyelashes and eating Haru whole—
Haru clenches his fists, lifts his heated face to the leaking sky, wills himself to remember why he needed to let the rain cool him down and wash him clean. He squints as a vein of lightning sends its echo from miles away. He touches his lips, so sensitive they're numb, and he realizes they’re stretched thin around his teeth and he’s smiling. Haru wonders what changed within him to make him think soft things about Rin, to feel so softly about him. Maybe not much changed, maybe it all—kicked up from the floor of the pool and broke surface. Maybe he's only just finding the meaning for something that has been as constant as—as water. So far Rin has tied knots in the pit of Haru’s stomach, pierced a fishing hook through his bottom lip and probably his chest as well, saturated himself into Haru more thoroughly than the rain on his skin. Haru will accuse him of all his crimes one day and he wonders what kind of confession Rin will give.
He notices Rin’s hair-tie clinging to his wrist just as the door slides open behind him. It slides closed again.
“We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you want to stop and feel the rain?”
Haru flicks his damp bangs to the side and turns around, thinking, is that what we’re in the middle of? Rin has one of Haru’s umbrellas; he’s stepping forward to Haru so they can both be under it.
“Honestly,” he grumbles, punctuated by a roll of thunder. He looks down at the shiny rippling surface of the deck they stand on, looking like maybe he doesn’t know what words to say either. Imagine, a speechless Rin. His lips are red, face cautious, hair wrecked, fingers twitchy.
Haru needs to feel the water again so he takes the umbrella and shuts it, and he takes a step and takes the curve of Rin’s jaw and kisses him. And rain drenches them as they kiss, which Haru will later learn is apparently what makes Rin cry when he and Kou watch foreign romantic comedies on crappy indoor days like this.
The skies might open up for them right now and send a downpour of rainbows and pink petals, because Rin has that sort of command on the world around Haru. Rin pushes his forehead to Haru’s and sighs. Then he leans back and looks at him, eyelids heavy like he’s sleepy. Smiling quietly like he knows something Haru doesn’t—he's been doing that a lot recently, enough to make Haru want to use the grip he has on his shoulders to shake him and say “I know, I know," though Haru isn't sure what it is Rin knows, what it is he knows.
Though maybe he can guess. Rin takes his face into his wet palms and Haru guesses he is about to be kissed again. Rin pinches both of his cheeks between either pointer and thumb. Haru shakes him off, scowling. Rin is giggling, curling his arms around Haru’s shoulders as Haru stumbles into him and hugs him tight.
“You're too careless, Haru,” Rin laughs, voice straining over the beat of rain, and he says it now like it’s something awesome. His eyelashes stick together, Haru feels him flinch in his arms when lightning tries to be the sun for half a second. Haru wonders how he can give a response to something Rin hasn't asked yet, just how he can explain that he has always always been bare boned and crazy for Rin.
"I care about you." he counters. He's close to shivering and Rin's close to him. He watches close as everything about Rin's rain-slick face opens up. Rin blinks slow and squints, rain makes his hanging mouth glossy. Haru thinks he might start crying, but he lets out a burst of laughter against Haru's mouth before kissing him for the Haru-lost-counth time. The storm loses track of hours the same way they do, and it's a while before they take cover, both too careless and too careful.