Chapter Thirty-Seven

Standing up after a twelve hour flight is quite possibly the most relieving feeling Makoto's had in a long, long time, and he's pretty sure his legs have forgotten how to function as he stumbles out of the airplane, his carry-on bag rolling loudly up the exit ramp with him.

Haruka is right behind him, rubbing one eye tiredly, his travel pillow still hooked around his neck. They say nothing - they're too exhausted to come up with meaningful conversation - as they follow Mr. Amakata out of the gate.

Instantly, Makoto is overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds of the bustling airport. All the signs around him are written in foreign scripture, and he can only make sense of pictures on posters. He tries to not let it get to his head, convincing himself he can stay sane for longer than ten seconds.

He isn't sure where they're walking until he hears a high-pitched squeal of delight, followed by Suzuka running by him (nearly running over his foot with her suitcase in the process) and jumping into the open arms of an elderly woman.

The woman, Makoto notices, is very fashionably dressed, fit in a cream colored blouse, a camel petticoat, a peach-colored scarf tied perfectly at her collarbone, and ironed dress pants. However, she seems to have no problem wrinkling her outfit as she scoops up the child and swings her around. Suzuka giggles excitedly, and the moment she is set down she grabs for the elderly man standing next to her, her chubby fingers clutching at his crisp pinstripe shirt.

Makoto assumes these must be the famous grandparents they'd be staying with for the next few days.

Tentatively, he lingers behind Haruka as the rest of the family joins the grandparents. The family reunion is joyous, with happy tears prickling at the sides of their eyes as they embrace after a year of parting. They're all talking in rapid-fire French, and it's all going in one ear and out the other with Makoto. To him, they might as well have been speaking an alien language from Saturn. For a brief moment, he wishes he paid more attention in French I in his first year of high school.

Haruka must've sensed him tense up, because he feels a featherlight touch on the small of his back, fast and unnoticed by the preoccupied family. "Hey, it's alright," He whispers under his breath, softly enough for only Makoto to hear. "My grandparents may not know Japanese, but they're trying. I'll translate anything you need."

Makoto swallows and finds himself nodding. As if on cue, the attention is drawn to him as Miss Amakata says something in French as she ushers towards Makoto.

"Honey, these are my husband's parents, Jeanette and Albert," She says, pronouncing the grandfather's name without the last letter. The grandmother adds something, and she nods, smiling. "They say they're delighted to have you with us."

Makoto forces a pleasant smile. "Je m'appelle Makoto," He tries to introduce himself, knowing he's totally butchering the accent and probably insulting the entire French-speaking world, but the grandparents smile nonetheless. He holds his hand out to shake their hands, which they take graciously.

"Thank you for visiting our beautiful country," Jeanette says in broken Japanese.

Albert says something in French, and from his left, Asuka snorts, nodding her head in agreement. The grandmother whacks his shoulder, and he rubs his arm sheepishly. On his other side, Makoto notices out of the corner of his eye that Haruka is blushing.

"What?" He echoes dumbly.

"Nothing," Haruka says quickly, looking irritated and clearly wanting to move on from the conversation.

"You're not denying it, Haruka," Asuka teases in a sing-song voice, and if it's possible, Haruka's face turns a darker shade of red. He mumbles something in French, earning a snicker from Albert, and Asuka starts to laugh some more.

Now it's Makoto's turn to blush. He's upset he's been left out of the loop, and the language barrier between them means he can't tell if they're laughing at him or not. The corner of Makoto's mouth twitches, and he takes a step back as quickly as he can. He ducks his head, clutching onto his suitcase handle a little tighter.

"Can we go now?" Haruka whines irritably to his uncle, who is watching the scene unfold, bemusement sparkling in her eyes.

"Yes, I could use some sleep right about now," He agrees. "Come on, let's go. Allons-y, Maman, Papa."

They quickly move through customs and baggage claim, and Makoto can't shake the awkward feeling of not understanding what's being said. In front of him, the Amakata's are having an incomprehensible conversation, Haruka and Asuka are arguing, again, in French, and they both keep shooting side-glances at Makoto, which makes him think they're talking about him. The only one who isn't talking is Suzuka, who is being helplessly dragged along due to her exhaustion.

Makoto remains silent as they pack their luggage into two separate taxis. Makoto takes a taxi with Miss Amakata in the front, Suzuka squeezed in the middle, and Haruka. Suzuka instantly falls asleep, her breathing steady as she leans on Haruka's shoulder for a cushion.

To entertain himself on the fifteen-minute drive home, Makoto stares out the window and admires the scenery. Japan is all flat, and he's so used to the boardwalks and cobblestone paths of Iwatobi, he forgot what actual hills and mountains look like. Even in the winter, the land is all so green, and he sees cows grazing on farms as they drive into the countryside and towards the coast. The world whisks away in a blur, and Makoto's eyes are too tired to keep up with it all, and eventually his mind wanders until he feels the taxi roll to a stop.

Squeezing his eyes shut and reopening them, his vision blurs into focus. In front of him is a winding driveway that leads into an old villa, not that grand in size but castle-like in comparison to all the neighboring farmhouses.

It's a three story home, two floors and a basement, constructed with brick and wood, with pointed rooftops. In every window is a flickering candle, and an intricate wreath adorns the red front door. The taximen help unload the luggage and whisk away, leaving the family to approach the home.

Makoto tries to drink in every detail of the grandiose home but eventually gives up, deciding he can admire it properly in the morning.

They enter the home, which, if it's possible, is more elegant than the exterior. Everything feels antique and expensive, but still retaining a classic layout. The family wheels their suitcases into the foyer. Albert says something to the family, and they begin to discuss something.

"He asked what we want for dinner," Haruka leans into Makoto's shoulder to whisper in his ear.

Makoto nods lamely. "I'm not really that hungry."

"Neither am I," Haruka admits. "Oba-chan, we're going to take our stuff upstairs and I'm going to give Makoto a tour of the house." He juts his thumb behind him, in the direction of the stairs.

"Do you not want dinner?" Miss Amakata asks, looking worried. "I know you hate airline food, you must be starving."

"We'll get a snack later," Haruka dismisses her, wheeling his suitcase away. Makoto shoots her an apologetic smile and follows behind like a lost puppy.

They both strain to yank their heavy suitcases up the flight of stairs, and are out of breath by the time they reach the top. "This way," Haruka says, ushering for him to follow him down a hallway. He twists a doorknob at the end of the hall and reveals a guest room.

It's decorated neatly, the colors cream and ivory in every piece in the room. The queen-sized bed is perfectly made, and four fluffed pillows sit on top. Besides then bed, there is a sitting chair, a desk, a shelf with books and knickknacks, and a door that leads into a bathroom. Makoto takes a step into the room, staring at the breath-taking chandelier swinging from the ceiling. In the sunset light, the crystals sparkle.

After shutting and locking the door behind them, Haruka chooses the left side of the bed, tossing his backpack on the bed. He kicks his shoes off, turns off the lamp light, and curls up on the bed, instantly shutting his eyes.

"Hey," Makoto warns him. "Careful. It's still only about eight in the evening here, you're gonna mess up your sleep cycle if you go to sleep too early."

"Shush," Haruka mumbles, not bothering to open his eyes. "My sleep schedule is already messed up. And I'll sleep when I want."

"At least take a shower first," Makoto pleads. "It may help you stay awake for a little while longer, enough to keep you from staying jetlagged."

"Ugh," Haruka groans exasperatedly. "Fine. I hate it when you're right," He slowly sits up, rubbing his eyes. He trods off into the ensuite bathroom and slams the door shut. After a moment, Makoto hears the rushing water of the showerhead.

Pleased, Makoto drags his suitcase to the other side of the room, unzipping it and pulling out a set of pajamas. He quickly changes, feeling instantly better in the fresh change of clothes. He flops on the bed in sheer exhaustion, accidentally knocking Haruka's backpack in the process. It's unzipped, so a few things spill out of the bag, including his earbuds and his sketchbook.

Resisting the urge to snoop, Makoto begins to shove the contents back into the bag. However, when his fingertips graze the smooth leather, he figures a little peek can't hurt.

Electric excitement buzzing in his fingertips, he flips to the first page, thumbing through the drawings. Each page is filled with something new; he mainly does figure studies, and some of the models look familiar. Classmates, Makoto realizes, as he admires the drawings and how Haruka portrays them in his observations. There's a boy listening to music, a girl reading a book, another dragging a paintbrush across an easel and biting her lip. It's done in charcoal, so some of the shading has smudged, and there are little rips where he erased too hard. As he scans the drawings, he notices sketches of himself here and there. However, as he gets through the sketchbook and passes through time, he notices his face more often.

Flattered that Haruka would want to draw him, he admires the moments in which Haruka has captured him. There's one of him swinging high on the swings, one of him standing on the edge of the balcony, admiring something in the distance, another of him staring boredly out the window, studying with a cup of coffee in one hand, they were endless. It's the little moment's Haruka's taken a liking to, the ones that often go unnoticed, and it sends a rush of warmth through Makoto's heart. He's so caught up in the drawings, he doesn't hear the water shut off, nor does he hear the click of a lock and footsteps.

"Forgot to get my clot- what do you think you're doing?!" Haruka shouts hysterically, making Makoto jump three feet in the air. The sketchbook nearly tumbles out of his hands, which Haruka takes as the opportunity to snatch it out of his hands. Makoto pulls it away in the last second, holding it further away, just out of Haruka's reach. "Hey! Makoto, what the hell?"

"Your drawings are amazing, you know," Makoto compliments him, grinning, "I don't know why you don't show them off more often."

"Because of dicks like you that snoop without permission!" Haruka retorts angrily, grasping desperately for the sketchbook. He climbs on the bed, straddling Makoto to get a better reach. "Give it back!"

Makoto laughs some more, deciding he had enough fun. "Okay," He agrees childishly, holding it closer. Haruka grabs it and rips it out of his hand, pulling it close to his chest and scowling.

"I hate you," He narrows his eyes.

"No you don't," Makoto teases, smiling amusedly. "Seriously, you're freaking phenomenal, Haru-chan."

Haruka's cheeks flush and he looks away. "I'm not."

"Have you considered art school?" Makoto prompts. "You're definitely good enough. And you definitely have the grades and scores to get into any university you want."

"It's not practical," Haruka disagrees. "My parents are pushing me to go to medical school."

"But is that what you want?" Makoto questions, narrowing his eyes. Haruka doesn't respond. "Isn't the point of going to college to shape your own future, not choose something someone else wants for you?"

Still no reply.

"Haru?"

"I'm going to go put clothes on," Haruka announces. "This not a conversation I want to have with you, especially when I'm only in a towel and sitting between your legs."

Makoto looks down, finally realizing the situation they're in. His face heats up instantly and he pulls his legs close to his chest, mumbling something incomprehensible and allowing him to pass. Haruka rolls his eyes, unfazed by the fact he's naked underneath the thin towel precariously knotted around his waist, and moves towards his suitcase, digging through it to find pajamas. He disappears back into the bathroom to hang up his towel and brush his teeth, taking his sketchbook with him this time.

When the room is completely dark, Makoto falls back on the bed, relaxing as his head hits the pillow. He turns to his side, allowing his eyes to close. He's just about to doze off when the door cracks open again. Haruka flicks off the bathroom light and sees Makoto half-asleep. He grumbles something under his breath, sighs, and slides into the bed next to him.

"You're gonna mess up your sleep cycle if you go to sleep too early," Haruka mocks in a high-pitched voice, which doesn't sound like Makoto at all.

The side of Makoto's mouth curls into a smirk. He reaches out and blindly searches for Haruka, eventually landing on his shoulder and giving it a playful shove. "Be quiet," Makoto jokes. "And come here."

Makoto feels Haruka scoot closer to him, pulling back the duvet so Makoto can get more comfortable under the sheets. Makoto wraps one arm around Haruka and pulls his head close to his chest. He suddenly becomes very aware of his own heartbeat when he realizes Haruka is listening to it.

"Art school isn't a possibility for me," Haruka says quietly, so softly Makoto has to strain to hear him. He keeps his eyes shut, his arm wrapped protectively around the smaller body. "Not because I don't want to, but because my parents would never approve. They wouldn't help me at all with tuition costs."

"So?" Makoto retorts. "Plenty of kids just take out student loans."

"How am I going to pay those loans, though, if I can't get a proper job with a measly art degree?" Haruka presses.

"It's not all about money," Makoto disagrees. "It's about talent. You have to keep releasing your work into the world, and it has to be good. If it's excellent, but nobody sees it, it doesn't count."

"Yes it does," Haruka argues. "Plenty of people do art just for themselves. It doesn't have to become a career."

"Too many people are trying to make it in the world by doing mediocre work, but they don't make anything of themselves because they're not good enough. The world deserves better than mediocre. So do you, Haru, and so does your art."

"Too many hopeful people in the world are striving to be that one memorable artist," Haruka says quietly, shrinking into himself. "One wrong step and your life is ruined, and you have no backup plan."

"You can't be afraid of failure," Makoto tells him. "If you stay in your comfort zone all the time, nothing's ever going to change."

"Maybe I don't want change," Haruka huffs. "I like my life the way it is."

There are certainly things that he could improve in his life, though, Makoto decides not to comment.

"The world is longing to be changed," Makoto squeezes his shoulder, too tired to open his eyes and look Haruka in the eye. "The world can't live on economics and science alone. They're desperate for art, desperate to feel something for once instead of think all the time. The world needs more artists, Haru, but the question is, will you be the one they remember?"

Haruka clearly doesn't know how to respond to that, which is probably a good thing, because Makoto is too tired to think of another cogent sentence. His brain is short-circuiting, spitting out nonsense that they'll both probably forget about in the morning.

Jet lag will be a bitch when they woke up, but in the moment, Makoto can't find the strength to care.

"You're insatiable, Makoto," Haruka mutters, and Makoto can sense he's rolling his eyes again.

"And you're not seeing what's really important," Makoto argues. "All I'm saying is consider it. Just stay true to what's most important to you," His words begin to be broken up by yawns as he starts to drift into unconsciousness. "Choose... the path that'll make you... the happiest. What makes you happy... Haruka?"

He's nearly asleep, but Makoto doesn't miss the word that passes by Haruka's lips in a soft breath as he pulls him closer.

"You."

- - - -

A/N: In the airport, Albert says "such a beautiful boy, Haruka is lucky to have him" as a passing comment, lol. Poor Haru.

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