Chapter Three

Makoto's hands are shaking so much he has to ask his mother to tie his tie.

"You know, honey, you don't have to go to this if you're nervous," Makoto's mother tells him as she loops the thin piece of silk fabric around his neck.

Makoto gazes at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall. He is dressed nicely enough; the tuxedo is from his siblings' elementary school graduation two years ago, so the sleeves are slightly too short. When the shirt sleeves are tightly cuffed, it looks presentable, so he doesn't dwell on asking it to be resized.

Makoto shakes his head firmly in an answer. There is no way he's backing out of this now; he's already spent ten minutes in front of the mirror pep-talking himself into going to this funeral even though it is scaring him so much all he really wants to do is climb under his bedcovers. No, he's going to do this.

The tie's knot is secured and Makoto's mother straightens it atop his chest with an encouraging pat. She reaches for his wallet and his cell phone, which are sitting on the counter, and hands it to him.

"You have enough money in your metrocard?" She asks worriedly. She starts to fumble for her purse to give him cash to put on the card. She hands him a ten dollar bill, which he takes gratefully and shoves into his wallet. "Don't stay out too late."

Makoto bites back a sigh. "Don't worry, Mom. I know the rules about being out in the city late at night."

He was to be traveling via the underground metro into Japan; under the bridge... The same bridge Haruka jumped from four nights ago. Makoto pushes the thought to the deepest corner of his mind and checks the time on his phone. 5:31.

"I should get going before I'm late," He announces, jutting his thumb towards the front door. His mother blows him a kiss and he catches it over his shoulder, a small smile on his face as he exits the house.

It is cold outside; the temperatures have significantly dropped after the sunset, and it is already dark as Makoto leaves his neighborhood. His suit helps somewhat in blocking out the harsh wind as he fast-walks to the train station, casting the occasional side-glance over his shoulder.

When Makoto makes it to the station, his hands are shaking (whether it's from the cold or from his nerves, he can't figure out) and he stuff them in his suit jacket pockets. There aren't many people waiting for the train, only a tired-looking mother and her children, and businessman in a suit and a bluetooth earpiece.

While they wait, it begins to snow; white puffs of powder melt in his combed hair and begin to collect on the ground, looking like someone sprinkled powdered sugar all over the platform. He wishes he brought a scarf, and his nose feels numb from the cold.

The metro arrives at 5:45 on the dot. Makoto steps on the train and moves towards the back, where he sits in the last seat in the last row, on the left. In front of him is a crudely-drawn graffiti and a heart that says M.S + Y.A written in black permanent marker. Makoto frowns to see that the heart has been crossed out.

The businessman sits two rows in front of him. From closer to the front, the older two children push their noses against the fogged glass, admiring the snow while the mother attends to the crying baby in a stroller. Makoto sticks his headphones in his ears and tunes them out, resting his head against the glass and staring out the window.

The snow turns the glistening lights into the city into iridescent bokeh circles that remind him of a camera taking an out-of-focus picture. As the train picks up speed, Makoto's heart lurches with it as he tries desperately to distract himself with his music and forget about what he is about to do.

When the train approaches the river, his sticky palms clench into fists on his lap. Makoto squeezes his eyes shut as it plunges into the underwater tunnel, engulfing his world in a moment of blissful darkness.

- - - -

Makoto's breath curls into spirals in the air as he exhales a breath he doesn't realize he's been holding, ascending the steps to the church.

It is the first time he's been to a funeral - well, the first time he's remembered it, anyway - and he isn't quite sure what to expect.

Though, when he enters the building and pushes open the doors, he knows it isn't this.

There are barely three rows of the church seats filled. Besides the clusters of people talking quietly amongst themselves before the start of the service, the cathedral is empty. Everyone is dressed in black, just like the funerals in sad movies Makoto's seen, and some are crying as people hug each other or share words of comfort and hope.

He walks down the aisle slowly, knowing it's too late to turn back now. A little girl, who couldn't be more than six and four feet tall, runs up to his side and tugs at the hem of his suit jacket.

"Hey!" She blurts out loudly, her voice squeaky and childish as she looks at Makoto with such an intense expression, she might as well be ten feet tall. "Did you know my cousin?"

"Um-," Makoto hums, feeling intimidated. His eyes cast downward to get a better look at the girl; she is wearing a simple grey dress that falls to her knobby knees, covered by a fuzzy black cardigan. There are shiny black flats on her feet - probably new, judging by the way they are not scuffed at the toes - that are topped with tiny black bows.

Another woman joins the little girl. She laughs as she approaches them, but Makoto sees endless sadness swimming in the pools of her bright blue eyes. Nevertheless, they are captivating, and for a second he catches a glimpse of Haruka's. This woman must be his mother.

"I am so sorry for my niece. She's quite the curious one," She says, her lips turning into forced smile as she regards the nervous teen. "Were you one of Haruka's classmates?"

"Y-yeah," Makoto stutters, silently cursing the fact his tongue is not willing to cooperate and make words that do not sound choppy and fearful. "He was in my homeroom class this year."

The woman nods, the smile still on her lips. Makoto notices her lips are trembling ever so slightly. "I'm Lucinda. Haruka's mother."

"Tachibana Makoto," He introduces himself, holding out his hand.

Her hand is poised to take his, but it freezes in mid-air upon hearing his name. "Tachibana?" She repeats, a clear look of surprise on her face, lighting up ever-so slightly. "My, I haven't seen you in years! You've grown so much. And you filled out to me such a handsome young man, too."

In all honesty, Makoto absolutely dreads this feeling; he can't recall ever meeting this woman, and yet she is treating him like an old friend. He allows her to gush over his handsome, boyish looks as a forced smile remains plastered on his face. He knows Lucinda and his mother used to work together over ten years ago, and that's how they became friends, but his family moved away for a few years and only returned last year.

"It's so nice to see Haruka has someone by his side again," Lucinda comments, and for once, her smile seems genuine. "It's been so long since I heard that he has a friend."

She speaks of him in the present tense, like he is still around. Makoto gulps; somehow he is convincing both himself and Haruka's mother that they were actually friends at one point, even though he can't recall a single word he's spoken to the boy. Not like he'd ever get a chance to now.

Seeing the smile on her face sends a pang of guilt through Makoto's heart. He can't tear what could be the last shred of happiness Lucinda Nanase will feel in a long, long time, so he keeps his mouth shut and hugs her, giving her his genuine condolences for her loss.

The service is set to start, and Makoto takes a seat in the third row. He leaves ample space between him and a couple that is most likely friends of the family. They are smartly dressed in black and the husband has an expensive bluetooth device in his left ear. Makoto keeps his eyes trained on the casket, which is empty.

Makoto cannot fathom what it must feel like to not even have a body to bury; like there's no closure, like he's not really dead, that he's out there somewhere.

When he allows his eyes to flutter shut, he can practically see Haruka sitting atop the old bridge, his legs swinging off the edge. He stares down, down, into the murky grey-blue waters. Waiting. Wishing for a second chance that he knows will never come.

As the minister offers words of hope for the quiet congregation, his eyes squeeze shut, a tear trailing down his cheek. Pain spreads through his chest like a rampaging wildfire; it physically aches worse than anything he can ever remember feeling when it dawns upon him that Haruka really is gone, and there is no going back.

There is nothing he can do to fix anything.

He raises his hand to touch his cheek, which he is surprised to find to be stained wet with tears. Why is he crying? He shouldn't be crying. He hardly knew the guy.

And yet, he has never felt a greater need to shield someone from all the bad things in the world than he has with Haruka Nanase. But he knows he never will get that opportunity.

Maybe that's why he's so upset - if only he had taken the time to get to know him, maybe things would be different. Maybe he wouldn't be sitting in this chapel. Maybe Haruka Nanase would be a living, breathing body. Perhaps he would even be happy.

Makoto decides in that moment that he wishes he could be Haruka's second chance.

- - - -

Stepping out into the city after the service is like getting splashed with a bucket of cold water. The wind is sharp and bitter, blowing against his face like a child to a rainbow pinwheel. As one of the last people to leave, he is alone in the city, the only hints at humanity being taxicabs honking and faint jazz music coming from around the block.

Makoto wishes he had packed a better winter coat as he wraps his blazer tighter around his body. He ducks his head down as he thunders down the steps of the cathedral, his feet echoing as they pound against the marble.

He checks the time on his watch; it is nearly ten o'clock. His mother wants him home by ten, so he picks up his pace to catch the nearest train.

His plans to make it home before his curfew, however, by the gravelly sounding voice of a stranger in the shadows.

"It's not the best time of night for a scared-looking guy such as yourself to be walking around the city alone."

A gasp hitches in Makoto's throat as he whirls around in surprise, locking eyes with a man stepping out from around the corner. From the neck down, he has the build of a thirty-year-old man, wearing a perfectly-creased grey suit with a black tie. His face reminds Makoto more of a retired biker; he is just starting to acquire wrinkles on his face, and his shiny black hair is sprinkled with streaks of grey. His eyes, completely black, are soulless pits of onyx and send a shiver down Makoto's spine.

"I-I don't want any trouble," Makoto stammers, backing away, his hands in a gesture of peace out in front of him.

The man steps closer. His head cocks to the side as he studies Makoto quizzically. He stumbles backwards, catching himself before he trips over his own two feet.

"D-don't come any closer!" Makoto tries to say firmly, though his entire body is shaking. He reaches one hand into his back pocket, retrieving his wallet. "Take my wallet if that's what you want! Though, I only have twenty dollars, it's not much, but it's all I got, so please don't kill me-"

"Be quiet, Tachibana Makoto," The man holds a hand out to silence him. He rubs his temples, as if Makoto's chatter gave him a headache.

Makoto shuts his mouth in an instant to quit his incessant nervous babble. Makoto's jaw then falls slack when he registers the fact this strange man knows his name, and he is about to say something when the man beats him to the punch. "I bet you're wondering why I know your name, Tachibana," He assumes, and Makoto responds with a silent nod, deciding it is better not to risk going against his wish.

He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket, followed by a plastic lighter, promptly lighting it by shielding away the small flame from the wind. He takes a drag on the cigarette and releases a puff of smoke into the air, watching it dissipate before he meets eyes with Makoto again. Smirking, he tapped on the cigarette, sending ash to fall to the cement.

"Well, you see, I know everything about everyone," He continues with an arrogant sort of attitude that makes Makoto's cheeks flush with color. A sudden wave of anger washes through him and his fists clench. "It's one of the perks of my job."

"Look, I don't know if you're on drugs or something, but you better stay the hell away from me because I am one button click away from calling my father, the police chief of Iwatobi," He threatens in a voice he only wishes were as intimidating in his head.

"Ooh, so scary," The man laughs mockingly with a shake of his head. "Tachibana, I could kill you with the snap of my fingers before your father could wake up from his deep slumber," He responds with a sweetness to his voice that sends goosebumps up Makoto's arms. He isn't quite sure how to respond to that.

"What do you want from me?" Makoto demands, his fingernails digging into his palms as he clenches his fists at his sides angrily.

"Oh, this isn't what you will do for me, but what I'm going to do for you, Makoto Tachibana," The man steps into the light of a flickering streetlamp. The soft glow of the yellow light shines on the practically translucent skin stretched over a long, bony physique. He folds his arms across his chest, almost in a child-like defiance. "I'm here to offer you a deal."

"Concerning?" Makoto retorts.

The man is right in front of him now. He blinks, and it feels like the world is moving in slow motion. When his eyes open, they have gone from a raven's black to an iridescent gold that seems to reflect a million shimmering colors.

"Saving Haruka Nanase."