Chapter Text
After years of chasing different currents, they had both returned.
Makoto had completed his degree in sports science and stayed in Tokyo to earn his swimming coach certifications. It hadn’t taken long before he was working at a local community pool, where the sounds of laughing children, splashing water, and the occasional whistle became the rhythm of his days.
Haruka had come back from Hungary, his international training phase finally behind him. Though he still swam professionally, his pace had settled. He now trained with a local team in Tokyo and occasionally picked up event work or promotional appearances, but his heart remained in the quiet, steady movements of water. In the clarity of laps. In the silence beneath the surface.
They both stayed in Tokyo— unchanged in that way; but not quite as close as before.
They had moved out of their old university apartments and into new ones, separated by train stations and daily routines. It was a little like their university days: nearby, but not beside each other like they had been in Iwatobi, when their homes were just steps apart.
When each of them had chosen their new place, they had exchanged spare keys almost immediately. Not out of need, or ceremony.
Just quiet understanding.
''Here. Just in case.''
There had been no need for explanation. That was how things were with them.
Haruka’s apartment was modest and tucked near the training center, while Makoto’s was a little bigger, brighter, closer to the pool where he worked.
It was mostly Makoto who visited. He said Haruka’s place felt calming. Familiar.
He’d show up after practice with a bag of groceries or convenience store curry, shoes kicked off at the door without hesitation. Sometimes he’d clean up if Haruka was late getting home, or hum quietly while preparing dinner; he had been trying to make himself useful in helping with cooking, all he can do is heat up foods; Haruka would tease, but from his kind heart towards Makoto.
Haruka never asked him to stay.
He didn’t need to.
Their days fell into an easy rhythm.
If schedules aligned, they met for morning swims. Their strokes were still in sync, even after everything. Other times, Makoto would drop by to watch Haruka train, sitting quietly in the bleachers with his water bottle balanced on one knee. And when Haruka had time to spare, he sometimes visited the community pool, observing Makoto from a quiet corner.
Makoto fit naturally into the world of coaching.
He crouched beside the kids with soft encouragements, his patience seemingly endless. After all, Makoto is a great big brother to his younger siblings. Haruka watched him as he adjusted swim caps, praised improvements, and laughed without holding back.
He was good at it. Haruka never said so aloud, but he felt it deeply; that Makoto was exactly where he was meant to be.
And yet.
That was when Haruka noticed her .
At first, she was just a girl— waiting at the edge of the pool area.
Haruka didn’t pay much attention until she began showing up regularly.
He didn’t know her name.
He only saw her from afar, always standing just beyond the railings, phone in hand, sometimes waving to a younger sibling or.. maybe a younger relative? before walking over to speak with Makoto.
Haruka couldn’t hear what they talked about. But he noticed the soft expression on her face.
The way she waited just a bit longer than necessary.
The brief way Makoto leaned in when she spoke...
He told himself it was nothing.
And Makoto never brought her up.
Haruka never asked.
That evening, Makoto had texted earlier in the day:
“Can I come over tonight? I’ll bring drinks. Mind if I use your shower after practice?”
Haruka had replied simply: “Okay.”
Dinner wasn’t fancy— grilled mackerel, miso soup, and chilled tofu; but Haruka had started the prep before Makoto arrived.
The kitchen smelled faintly of soy sauce and ginger. The sky outside was already starting to dim.
Makoto arrived later than usual.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he opened the door, a slight flush on his cheeks from the lingering summer heat. “Practice went a little over... one of the kids kept asking about flip turns.”
“You always say that,” Haruka replied, not unkindly, as he glanced up from the stovetop.
Makoto laughed quietly as he slipped off his shoes. “We're now responsible adults after all.”
He set a bottle of barley tea and a bag of side dishes on the counter before stretching his arms overhead with a quiet groan. “Is salt-grilled mackerel on the menu for tonight?”
“It was on sale,” Haruka said, already plating the tofu.
“Lucky me.” Makoto smiled, the sides of his eyes crinkle so gently, then nudged his towel bag off his shoulder. “Mind if I shower real quick?”
Haruka nodded. “Soap’s still the same.”
“Smells like you,” Makoto teased lightly, already heading down the hall.
As Haruka stood at the counter, slicing green onions for the miso soup, a faint vibration sounded behind him.
Once.
Then again.
He didn’t turn at first, assuming it was some group message or weather alert. But the third buzz was longer— a notification from someone directly, maybe... and his eyes drifted, almost instinctively, toward the sofa, where Makoto's bag sat, slouched, half-unzipped where he’d dropped it.
Makoto’s phone screen had lit up inside the open bag, the name bright against the dim room.
Sayaka-san
The name meant nothing to him. No face, no context. But his hand slowed.
He didn’t know why it caught him. Maybe it was the honorific— polite, respectful.
Maybe it was the frequency. Or maybe, just maybe... it was because he’d seen her before.
The girl who waited near the lockers.
The one who smiled a little too brightly when talking to Makoto.
He turned away, setting the knife down.
It didn’t mean anything. It was probably a parent.
Or a fellow coach.
... Just someone from the pool.
Still, as he rinsed the tofu, that strange pinch in his chest didn’t go away.
“We’re responsible adults now”... as what Makoto said. Makoto is a great guy… so it should be natural for him to… date… or something.
Stop it.
He told himself to shake it off.
It didn’t mean anything.
It didn’t.
He went back to preparing dinner.
Makoto stepped out of the shower ten minutes later, towel around his neck, hair still damp.
“Waahh! Smells good~,” he said, grinning as he padded over to the table. “It's always nice to be spoiled by your cooking!”
Haruka shrugged, setting down the last dish. “You say that every time.”
“Hmm. Because it’s true every time.” Makoto sat down and clasped his hands together, a soft itadakimasu under his breath.
Dinner was quiet at first— the soft quiet clink of wooden chopsticks, the rustle of sleeves, the hum of the city beyond the window.
It was a simple meal: grilled mackerel, miso soup, and tofu with scallions.
But to Makoto, it might as well have been a feast.
“Oi... You're downing on the food way too much again,” Haruka said flatly.
Makoto, already halfway through his second bowl of rice, looked up with sheepish eyes. “Or maybe you just underestimate how much I missed your cooking.”
Haruka rolled his eyes faintly but didn’t argue. “You’re going to ruin your appetite for tomorrow.”
“Let me be ruined in peace,” Makoto said with a grin, mouth half-full.
Haruka looked away, hiding the small pull of a smile.
After a few minutes, Makoto spoke again. “How was training today?”
“Normal,” Haruka replied. “Coach pushed more sprint drills.”
Makoto winced in sympathy. “Don’t overdo it. You’ve been coming home more worn out lately.”
“I’m used to it.”
“Still,” Makoto murmured, nudging his rice bowl aside, “you should keep healthy. Eat more protein if you’re cutting weight again.”
Haruka raised an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk. You’re still getting bigger.”
Makoto blinked, then laughed softly, flexing his arm a little like he was only now noticing. “I guess coaching doesn’t stop me from building muscle.”
“Guess not,” Haruka muttered, sipping his tea.
They finished the rest in gentle silence. But Haruka noticed the shift— Makoto’s chopsticks moved slower than usual. His gaze drifted often: to the window, to his hands, to nothing in particular.
After the meal, Makoto stood to collect the dishes. “I’ll wash up.”
Haruka joined him at the sink, towel in hand, drying each plate Makoto passed over. Their shoulders brushed once, barely a touch— and neither of them pulled away.
Afterward, Makoto went to the closet and pulled out the futon from its usual spot, laying it out on the floor with practiced ease. He fluffed the pillow a little, then sat back on his heels and glanced over at Haruka.
Haruka shifted slightly, eyes lowering.
“Makoto…” He paused, throat tightening. “…who…”
Makoto blinked. “Hm? What is it?”
Haruka looked down. “Your phone buzzed earlier. A few times while you were in the shower.”
“Oh,” Makoto said. His voice stayed light, but there was a pause. “Probably just one of the parents. A few of them like to ask about the kids’ progress after class.”
Haruka gave a faint nod. “Right.”
Makoto didn’t ask why he brought it up. And Haruka didn’t explain.
Before lying down, Haruka went and turned on the dim ceiling light, the one near the corner.
Makoto didn’t like sleeping in the dark. He didn’t like the dark in particular.
He’s said it outright, since they were kids. And Haruka always remembered. And every time Makoto stayed over, the room was never left in full shadow.
They settled into their beds; Makoto on the futon, Haruka under the sheets.
“Haru, thanks for dinner, as always,” Makoto said quietly.
“It's nothing.”
“Goodnight, Haru.”
Haruka hesitated. “...Goodnight.”
The apartment fell quiet.
He turned his face toward the ceiling, the glow from the dim light casting soft outlines across the walls.
Something had shifted.
He couldn’t name it, but it lingered in the stillness like an invisible thread, drawn tight.
Like a current pulling at his chest.
Subtle, but impossible to ignore.