Chapter Ten

By the time the two return from the blizzard, they are flushed, out of breath, and soaking wet from all the snow.

"You idiots," Asuka practically sings from her spot at the counter, not even bothering to look up. She has her nose in a book, a pair of wide-rimmed wire glasses slipping down her nose. Makoto wonders why she is straining to read when none of the lights are on, the store having closed up due to the storm. "I tried to warn you that you wouldn't make it home."

"You didn't warn us, Asuka," Haruka hisses, kicking off his shoes by the door.

"Oh, I didn't? My mistake," Asuka apologizes, not looking nor sounding sorry at all, judging by the knowing smile on her face. "Mind locking the door behind you? I don't think we're going to get any more customers for the rest of the night. Might as well close early."

Makoto looks around the now empty bookstore. What used to be filled with customers and readers is now a ghost town within twenty minutes of being gone. Haruka turns around and spins the brass lock on the door, promptly spinning the We're Open! sign to show they're closed. Not like it would matter, anyway. Anyone who is sane would be safely tucking into their homes for the night to avoid the blizzard.

"So you're staying the night then, Tachibana-kun?" Asuka prompts to Makoto, who is standing there helplessly, arms draped over his sides in a futile attempt to keep himself warm. It does nothing, however, as he is chilled to the bone and his clothes are soaked through.

"Just Makoto is fine," He mumbles. He doesn't like when people call him Tachibana; it reminds him of his father, a no-nonsense adult who pours his life into work and studying. "And no, I wouldn't want to be an inconvenience to your family. When the snow clears, I'll head home."

"It's not going to stop snowing for several more hours," Asuka tells him matter-of-factly. She flips her book upside down and finally looks at him, resting her chin on her propped-up forearms.

"The city won't be running the trains until the next morning, either," Haruka adds on glumly, looking just as cold and just as miserable. He is twitching ever so slightly, like he wants to run off to get into warm clothes.

Makoto wrinkles his nose, remembering how bad the blizzard was the first time he experienced it. Though, last time he had the luxury of curling up in his bed in warm pajamas and soundly sleeping. This time, however, he is shivering in wet clothes and being forced into the company of two brooding cousins.

It is in this moment, when Makoto is feeling helpless and exposed, that he hears the pounding of footsteps and two figures reveal themselves from the back room.

"Haruka? C'est toi?" A husky voice calls in what Makoto assumes to be French.

"Yeah," Haruka responds in standard Japanese.

The voice reveals itself when they round the corner; he is a good-looking man in what Makoto assumes to be his mid-forties, with dark, slightly graying hair and laughter lines around his eyes. He has similar blue eyes to Haruka and is quite tall, with a swimmer's physique – easily recognizable as he is an ex-swimmer himself – and wears a powder-covered apron over a forest green button up and dark jeans. He has started speaking to Haruka in rapid French that completely flies over Makoto's head; Haruka replies in the same cool, effortless way he always does.

However, it is not Haruka's uncle that shocks Makoto; no, it is the other figure that emerges from the shadowy back room: his aunt.

"Amakata-sensei?"

"Goodness! Makoto! What a surprise to see you here!" Miss Amakata gasps as she turns the corner. She has a matching white apron that is thrown over her work dress. Judging by the expression on her face, Makoto assumes the surprise is not of the good variety.

This is too much for Makoto to take in. Instead of politely greeting his homeroom teacher like he knows he should, he whirls around and stares at Haruka open-mouthed. "Amakata-sensei is your aunt? Why didn't you tell me this?"

Haruka shrugs boredly in response. "Didn't think it was necessary."

"Oh, and you have a guest?" He sounds pleasantly surprised, speaking in Japanese again, but there is an unmistakable French accent. "Good evening. My name is Robert Amakata. And you are?"

"Makoto Tachibana, sir," Makoto introduces himself; reaching out to shake his extended hand. The man is rather intimidating by nature, but there is something in the way he kindly smiles that puts Makoto at slight ease.

Makoto faces his teacher once again. "So sorry to barge in!" He stammers, bowing his head respectfully and staring at his shoes. "Haruka and I were trying to make it home, but the blizzard was too strong!"

"Well, I'm glad you came back here! It's unsafe to be outside in such harsh conditions," She declares, turning to her nephew with a smile. "Haruka, I already called your parents to let them know you'll be staying here for the night."

Haruka is already brushing by them, grabbing Makoto's wrist to tug him along, and is heading towards the back room. "Not like they'd care, anyway," Makoto hears him whisper under his breath.

"Makoto, dear, I'm assuming you'll be staying as well?"

Makoto tries to stop walking (Haruka's death grip is too strong and he is forced to continue moving) and is about to open his mouth to protest when Haruka interrupts him before he even speaks. "Yes, he is," He snaps over his shoulder.

"Go on upstairs and find some warm clothes. I'm sure you two must be freezing," Miss Amakata tells them, nothing but patience in her voice. Haruka doesn't respond, but Makoto manages to thank her for her kindness as he is tugged down a narrow, windowless hallway and into the back corner of what looks like a storage room. In the corner is a staircase, which they begin to ascend. At the top of the flight of stairs is a door, which Haruka opens, leading into a small apartment.

Makoto takes a look around at the second-floor unit of the building, taking in its details. They are standing in a small, shabby living space, only enough room to hold a scuffed leather couch, an armchair, a coffee table, and a small TV. To the left is a closed door, leading to what Makoto assumes to be a coat closet. They move through the apartment, passing a kitchen, small eating area, and a couple closed bedroom doors.

They enter the last bedroom on the left, which, much to Makoto's surprise looks like a teenage girl's room. Asuka's, Makoto decides, glancing around the bedroom. The walls are painted a coral pink, covered in posters of idols and bands Makoto barely recognizes. The furniture seems to have a black theme, with a wooden bunk bed, a desk with school materials messily strewn about it, and a bookshelf filled with books of all shapes and sizes. In the center is a fluffy white rug that Makoto can't help but wriggle his toes on while Haruka storms towards the closet and throws it open.

"Are we going to borrow some of Asuka's clothes?" Makoto asks, apprehensive of being able to fit in the petite girl's clothing.

"No," Haruka says shortly as he kneels down and pulls out one of the bottom drawers of an armoire shoved in the walk-in closet. The drawer is shoved with men's clothing, presumably Haruka's, practically spilling over. "I keep some clothes here because I stay the night sometimes. Here."

Makoto must have terrible reflexes, because before he can even process Haruka's words an oversized t-shirt, yellow with orange decals, and a pair of dark grey sweatpants is being thrown at his face. Makoto catches the clothes, accidentally getting a whiff of them as he buries his face into the fabric. He smells nice.

Wow, Makoto, He congratulates himself. Way to be super creepy.

He thanks Haruka for the clothes in a soft voice, the voice he finds himself using when they share a tender moment and he doesn't want to break it by doing something stupid.

"That's the only thing I have that could possibly fit you," Haruka replies, grabbing a fresh set of clothes for himself before shutting the closet doors behind him.

Makoto scrambles to get himself changed, quickly peeling off the wet articles of clothing and allowing them to drop to the floor. Luckily his boxers are still dry – how embarrassing would it be if he had to borrow a pair of Haruka's? – and he swiftly pulls the shirt and sweatpants on, immediately comforted by the sudden warmth.

Makoto remembers it would be best to call his mother and tell him where he is, but instead of dialing her number, he sends her a quick text. Got caught in the blizzard. I'm staying with Nagisa for the night. Don't worry about me.

The reply is almost automatic. Be safe, honey! Classes have been cancelled for tomorrow. Love you!

He is just scooping up his wet clothes when Haruka emerges from the closet, also holding a bundle of clothing. He is in a shirt that is just a little too small and pajama pants that hang just a little too low on his hips, and Makoto has to turn his head away so he doesn't stare. His cheeks feel the slightest bit warm when he realizes Haruka still has his scarf wrapped around his neck.

Haruka silently motions for Makoto to follow him and they move towards the back corner of the home, where a washer and dryer are stacked in a closet-like space by the kitchen. Haruka tosses their clothes in the dryer, starting the machine before taking Makoto back downstairs.

"Classes are cancelled," Makoto mumbles in an attempt to start up a conversation, grateful he is walking behind Haruka on the stairs so he can't see that he's blushing ever so slightly.

"Obviously," Haruka retorts with a click of his tongue, and that was the end of that conversation.

They are greeted by Haruka's family, who are tidying up from the day's work. Asuka seems to be done for the day, her feet propped up on one of the tables as she reads her book, while her parents dust off the tables, pick up coffee mugs, and tuck away any books that were left out. Haruka and Makoto gravitate towards the overstuffed armchairs that are nearby the crackling fireplace. Digging through his backpack, Makoto grabs his history notes and gets to work, finding peace among the silence.

It is not long before the light bulbs flicker a couple times before turning off completely, the only light in the bookstore being the dim glow from the fireplace.

"Aw man!" Asuka complains loudly, dropping her book on her face. "And I was just getting to the good part too!"

"It's time for bed anyway, Asuka," Her father directs her, voice kind but also stern. "Head on upstairs to get ready for bed."

"What about Haruka and Tachibana-kun? Why do they get to stay up later?" Asuka whines, pointing to the two boys, who have assumed their spots in the armchairs by sprawling out comfortably, Makoto with his unfinished history homework and Haruka doodling in his journal.

"They're two years older than you, honey," Miss Amakata explains sternly, as if that is a reasonable enough answer. When Makoto takes a peek at her expression, however, he can tell it is something beyond that. Asuka must've caught the drift, because she gives no further complaints and hops off her bar stool, bookmarking her page and muttering a goodnight to everybody before heading up the stairs.

"We're going to tuck in as well," Mr. Amakata announces, wrapping a hand around his wife's waist as he looks across the bookstore at the two boys. "Will you two boys be alright down here?"

Haruka makes a noise of affirmation, which is enough for Mr. Amakata. The aunt and uncle take off their aprons and hang them up on a nearby coatrack. "Have a good night, boys," Miss Amakata says, a smile in her voice as they also head upstairs, their footsteps eventually fading into nothing when they hear a door slam upstairs.

There is something about being alone at night with Haruka that elicits some unknown emotion in Makoto; he can't put his finger on it, but it's a comfortable, intimate feeling, one that he's experienced in the past. The hearth of the fireplace crackles and pops happily and cars whizz by in a flash of light outside downtown, filling the silence that falls between the two. Makoto finds himself staring at the way the flames dance and spiral into the air before dissipating into smoke, and then he finds himself staring at the way Haruka bites his lip in concentration as he scribbles in his journal.

Makoto turns back to his history homework, completely uninterested in the post-effects of World War II. It is ironic how he is surrounded by hundreds of interesting-looking books and yet, he is forced by his history professor to read this boring nonfiction textbook. Still, he manages to take down the necessary notes, his handwriting sloppier due to the lack of light in the room and the fact he is balancing his notebook on one knee.

A dry sigh makes its way past Makoto's lips when he realizes he can't take the silence anymore. He slams his history textbook and notebook shut and sets them on the floor in front of him. Leaning back into the armchair, he shuts his eyes and says the words he wouldn't have the confidence to say if he weren't so sleepy and comfortable in Haruka's pajamas.

"Tell me about yourself."

Makoto hears Haruka shift in his seat, and practically feels the way Haruka is glaring daggers into the side of his face, and yet, somehow he doesn't have the will to care.

"Why would you ever want to know anything about me?" Haruka snaps rudely, but there is a twinge of hurt in his voice.

A soft laugh bubbles out of his mouth as his eyes fly open and he turns his head so he can get a good look at Haruka. Sure enough, his journal has been slammed shut and Haruka is glaring at him, eyes narrowed challengingly.

"That's an easy one," Makoto replies with a tender smile. "Because friends should know things about each other."

"Hmm. Who knew that was a rule of friendship."

"Come on," Makoto whispers, begging by now. "Just five things, and I'll shut up."

Makoto expects a flat-out no, but instead he gets a strange response. "There's nothing about me worth sharing," Haruka mutters, tucking the journal in the space between the armrest and the cushion and curling up in the armchair, shutting his eyes.

"I don't think that's true at all," Makoto disagrees. "You're very interesting, Haruka."

Haruka doesn't reply, which isn't a surprise. Makoto looks at him for a moment longer, taking in every detail of Haruka's face in the lucky spare moments he's been given. The light from the fire casts shadows on Haruka's face, extenuating the bags under his eyes and his jawline. He can't help but stare at the way his eyelashes practically hug his cheeks, his structured nose, and the way his lips are firmly pressed together as he tries to sleep.

Makoto can't allow himself to stare much longer, feeling like he is stepping across some sort of boundary, and decides it's not worth fighting over. He closes his eyes, sleep threatening to wash over him when he hears Haruka's voice, groggy and slurred with sleep.

"My name is Haruka Nanase."

Makoto is wide-awake now. He keeps his voice soft, like he is talking to a child. "Things I don't already know," He whispers, the side of his mouth turning up into a smile.

Haruka sighs softly, rubbing his eyes with his fists, but Makoto cannot tell if he is irritated or not. He just sounds so tired, like he's seconds away from giving up. It is not a thought Makoto wants to think about.

"Mackerel is my favorite food," Haruka finally says after a moment of thought.

Haruka has only said one thing - and it's about mackerel, of all things – and somehow Makoto feels like he's found the key to a whole new world. It's opened a door to the life of Haruka, a world he's realizing he needs to be a part of. A world he wants to be a part of.

"I like to sit by the beach and think," He adds, his voice getting even heavier. "The waves, the water... It is all so ...calming."

"You must really like water, Haruka," Makoto muses thoughtfully. Haruka merely hums in response, not agreeing nor disagreeing.

"I want to be an artist when I grow up," Haruka whispers into the darkness, the fire having burned out. There is nothing left but glowing coals and ashes now. "Perhaps industrial design. Or maybe an art teacher."

Who would've thought Haruka loves art so much he wants to pursue it as a career? Makoto supposes that explains all the doodling in the old journal – Haruka seems to be bursting with creativity, and yet he keeps it to himself.

"Will you show me your art sometime?" Makoto dares himself to ask against his better judgment. His cheeks warm up, and he is suddenly grateful it is dark; he realizes the darkness gives him the courage to say things he wouldn't dare if he could see Haruka's face.

"Maybe."

Haruka is yawning now, a soft noise that leaves a warm feeling in Makoto's chest. Makoto doesn't need light to be able to tell how tired Haruka is. Still, he fights for those two more things, two simply, probably meaningless facts about himself that Makoto yearns for. He realizes just how important it is to him he learns about Haruka – and for some reason, it's like those two facts are two tiny steps closer to succeeding on saving him.

"Two more," Makoto reminds him softly.

Haruka yawns again, his lips smacking. "I... I'm ticklish," He mumbles halfheartedly, his voice starting to become incomprehensible as it is so filled with heaviness. Makoto grins at the fourth fact, knowing full well that Haruka never would have admitted this to him if it weren't for the fact he is half-asleep. How cute. He treasures the fact. It, in its own special way, brings them closer together.

There is one fact left, and Makoto wishes he had suggested more to begin with. He wants to know more about Haruka; in fact, he wants to know everything he can. Maybe it is taking advantage of Haruka's unguarded state, and maybe it is completely selfish of him, but he can't help but not care about that right now. Haruka has been nothing but an enigma in Makoto's mind, and now finally, finally, he's gotten the chance to break down his walls a little bit, revealing that he's just another human being: ordinary, but beautiful.

"One more," Makoto tells him, hearing nothing but the sounds of Haruka's soft, steady breathing. His heart sinks in disappointment when he realizes Haruka must be asleep. He regrets not getting to hear that last thing about him, and he judges himself for thinking so selfishly.

However, he is proven wrong when Haruka's voice cuts through the silence one last time. "U-used to..." He mumbles, voice muffled. "Used to call..."

"What was that, Haruka?" Makoto asks, suddenly desperate for that one last fact.

Haruka shifts in the armchair, and Makoto can pinpoint the exact moment when his heart stops when Haruka repeats himself in his dazed and groggy state, saying the words Makoto never knew he needed to hear, clear as day.

"You used to call me Haru."

- - - -

A/N: beTCHA DIDN'T SEE THAT ONE COMING