Chapter Twelve: December 13th

It goes without saying that Makoto is moments away from having a mental breakdown.

Those who know the boy typically would describe him as the sweet, patient guy who never gets irritated or mad. Usually, Makoto is content with pushing back his frustrations and putting on a smile (even if it's forced), but today is a completely different story.

The anger that is bubbling inside of him, boiling deep in his stomach, is white hot and dangerous. It churns within him, hungry for destruction, and he knows he's going to snap at  any moment. He knows he has to get out of everyone's way before he erupts like a volcano. He knows the feeling will pass, but while it's here, manifesting itself into a demon, he's aware he could so something he would regret later.

So he escapes.

He runs.

The moment the last bell rings, he bolts out of class, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and jamming earbuds in his ears. Music pours out, an old rock song he listened to from an old middle school phase, and it's the most beautiful thing Makoto's heard, because as he turns it up, it provides the white-noise silence Makoto needs to forget about Haruka, even if it's for a couple blissful minutes.

And so, he turns the music up, shutting out the world around him, and he is able to let go. The anger blurs his vision with red and he hardly remembers the train ride home; when he gets off he is running as fast he can to his home and tears into his house, out of breath.

No one is home. His mom must be out, picking up the twins from school. Makoto storms into his room, slamming the door so loudly the entire house vibrates.

"Death!" Makoto screams into his empty room. "Hey! I could use some help here, you know!"

He looks around the room, waiting impatiently for the man to apparate into his bedroom (he always seemed like the type to love to make grand entrances) or hell, even just walk through the door.

"Death! Quit playing around!" Makoto shouts, slamming the side of his fist on the wall angrily. "Come on! Can you hear me?! Death!"

"I can hear you just fine, thank you," A steely voice says from the corner, and Makoto whips his head around so fast his vision goes blurry for a second. Death is sitting on top of his desk, one leg crossed over the other, looking unamused. "I'd really appreciate it if you stopped shouting."

Makoto scrunches his nose up in disgust as he sees Death pull out a lighter and illuminate a cigarette. He is just putting the cigarette to his lips when Makoto puts his foot down. "Oh no, you are not smoking in here," He stomps towards Death.

"Do you have a problem with smoking, Makoto Tachibana?" Death says innocently, knowing full-well Makoto does. Judging by the look on his face, Death knows he doesn't need to say anything else. "You asked for me two seconds ago, and now you're kicking me out. That's not very hospitable, don't you think?"

"Smoking is terrible for you," Makoto lectures him. "You could get lung cancer and die."

"I'm Death," Death retorts with the same level of sarcasm he always has about him. "I can't die. Anyway, I have a feeling you didn't summon me here just to criticize my nasty habits."

Makoto is immediately reminded of the source of his anger and it flares up within him once again. "Right," Makoto says. "I need your help," He asks Death firmly, hands clenching into fists by his sides.

"Well I figured as much," Death rolls his soulless black eyes, taking a long drag on the cigarette. "Now what seems to be the problem?"

"You really have to ask that question?" Makoto accuses him, leaning against the far wall so he can get a better look at him.

"I'm no mind reader," Death responds arily with a half-hearted shrug.

"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about." Makoto doesn't have time to play mind games. He just needs answers, and he needs them now. "You know. Haruka Nanase."

"What about Haruka Nanase?" Death practically flutters his eyelashes.

"He's the most difficult person ever to deal with. I have no idea how to save him and I know I'm running out of time but part of me feels like i'm just making things worse. I have no idea what he's thinking because he doesn't make sense and I can't figure out why he seems to hate me so much," Makoto babbles all in one breath, and he is panting by the time he finishes.

A puff of grey smoke whirls out of Death's mouth as he exhales, and the cloud coils in the air before dissolving. "Please, Makoto Tachibana," The airiness gone, Death just sounds irritated now as he practically exhales out the words exasperatedly, rolling his eyes once again. He gives Makoto an amused look, a smirk curling on his mouth. "Haruka Nanase certainly does not hate you."'

"Oh yeah, well, you're Death," Makoto retorts sarcastically, throwing his hands up in the air like he's found all the answers he needs. "You just know everything, don't you?"

Death sighs softly, pinching the bridge of his nose impatiently. He shakes his head slowly, as if he is dealing with an unreasonable toddler. "This has nothing to do with me being Death," He explains in the same confusing way he always does. "This has to do with you being you."

This perplexes Makoto immensely. What the hell does that mean? He thinks, his mind spinning with endless questions. Death's so-called advice has only left more questions in his mind, and his hope for success is quickly deteriorating.

"You can't just s-say things like that," Makoto gasps, his head falling into his hands as his fingers knead at the forming headache in his temples. "That doesn't help me at all."

"I never said I was one to give good advice," Death responds curtly.

"Death, give me something, anything here," Makoto begs, his voice muffled by his hands. "I'm so stuck, and I can't fail- I'll never be able to forgive myself for it if I do. How on earth am I supposed to do this? How do I break down Haruka's walls if he's so adamant on keeping them locked around him?"

"Think, Makoto Tachibana," He hears Death telling him, his voice quiet and encouraging, in a strange way. "Use that smart little brain of yours."

Makoto wracks his brain for any information he can recall. Surely he's missing something; a piece of the puzzle that would help make everything make sense if someone would bother to fill him in. He hates this feeling, this feeling of being so close to an answer but still out of it's grasp.

The the fragment of a memory Makoto needs, sharp and bitter, wedges its way to the forefront of Makoto's conscience. You used to call me Haru. It comes so quickly Makoto nearly stumbles over, and he stares Death right in the eyes.

"Why did Haruka say I used to call him Haru?" He demands breathlessly.

Surely he would know the answer to that question, right? Makoto thinks with confidence. With him being the omnipotent immortal being he is and all.

Death merely smiles, a genuine smile that shows off a set of perfectly white teeth, too bright for a man who smokes. Makoto can't tell if it's supposed to be comforting or terrifying, and his emotions are too much of a jumbled mess to know the difference. "All in due time, Makoto Tachibana," He says. "Everything will make sense soon enough."

Makoto barely has time to register what he says, because when he blinks in surprise, Death has vanished into thin air right before his eyes.

- - - -

The family dinner is, in short, a disaster.

Makoto spends the evening with his mother and his twin siblings, who do nothing but cause ruckus and mess throughout the dinner. Ren, whose excitement for his upcoming eleventh birthday manifests in tantrums over being treated as a baby, had decided that he is too mature for dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets and throws a huge fit over having to eat them. His twin sister, Ran, tells him if anything, he's acting even more immature, which gets him even more annoyed. They bicker incessantly throughout the meal, but Makoto tries to block it out of his mind, having his own problems to deal with.

"Where's Dad?" Makoto asks his mother during a moment of silence. His spot at the dinner table is empty, as per usual. Makoto wonders what excuse he's given this time to get out of dinner with the family.

"Oh," Her face falls with disappointment, but she tries to hide it with a watery smile. "He's had a long day at work. He said he wanted to tuck in early for the night."

Makoto smiles in response, but on the inside his stomach is twisting up into knots. He hears the unmistakable sadness in her voice; he can't miss it after hearing it countless times.

They argue the whole dinner period, and Makoto's mother does little to cease the fighting. Makoto sighs shakily and focuses on finishing his overcooked chicken nuggets, dreaming of the leftovers in the fridge he can eat after dinner.

When the 22 on his hand morphs into a 21, sending the same shooting discomfort through his arm and numbing it with pain, Makoto squeezes his eyes shut and bites down hard on his lip to keep himself from crying out. He's lucky his mother is distracted with trying to ease the storm brewing between his younger siblings and doesn't see his pained expression.

It is when Ren throws a chicken nugget covered in ketchup at Ran that finishes it all. The ketchup splatters on her face, sliding down comically, and then falls in her lap, causing her to screech in anger. She dives for his throat, tackling him to the ground when his mother slams her fist on the table. The silverware and plates rattle on the table, making the room shake.

"Ren! Ran!" She shouts in a tone of voice Makoto hasn't heard from her in what feels like years. She points in the direction of the hallway. "Go to your rooms."

"But-"

"Now!" She yells.

The twins pick themselves off the floor, with Ran throwing the chicken nugget on the plate. They mutter things at each other under their breath and knock into each other's shoulders before disappearing around the corner.

Makoto doesn't have time to say anything before his mother has risen to her feet and has begun to pick up the plates. He follows suit, keeping silent as to not agitate her further. He scrapes the excess food off into the trash can before stacking them by the sink.

"I'll wash, you dry," Makoto suggests in the cheeriest voice he can muster. She nods, her mind clearly wandering in another place, and she stands beside him in front of the sink.

Makoto hums to himself, trying to get the frustration of the day to melt away. As he scrubs the plates, he imagines himself scrubbing away everything that is making his life difficult. The food washes down the drain, mesmerizing Makoto. He avoids looking at his mother, handing her the plate while keeping his eyes trained on the sink.

"Are you alright, honey?" His mother asks in a soft, tender voice. She's straining to keep calm, to be selfless like she always does. Makoto knows his mother can't help but put others before her own needs; it's just the way she's always been.

"I'm fine, Mom," Makoto lies, not wanting to stress her out any more. "I just had a long day at school."

"Did you have any tests today?" She asks worriedly. "You've locked yourself in your room quite a bit recently... Studying super hard, I imagine."

"No tests today, just a lot of homework to do," Makoto says, already paling at how much he has to do tonight. If only she knew how much sleep I am losing over this whole Haruka ordeal. "But, Mom?"

"Yes, Makoto?"

"How do you become friends with someone new?"

Makoto's mother stops drying her dish, and she looks at her son curiously. "My, where did that come from?" She asks in surprise.

"Ah," Makoto feels his face blush a bit when he feels his mother's eyes fixated on his profile. "Well, there is this guy in my homeroom. He doesn't have any friends, and I've been trying to get to know him."

"That's sweet of you, love. That's my boy, always trying to be there for everyone," His mother says with a warm smile. "Perhaps find something you and this boy have in common, and then you can do that together. What do you know about him? What does he like?"

"Um, being alone, I guess?" Makoto rambles as his mind wanders, trying to think of what he's learned about Haruka so far. "I'm pretty sure he likes reading books. And the beach. Oh! He is really into drawing. Anytime I see him, he's doodling in the same journal he keeps with him at all times."

"Well, I've seen your art, you're not much of an artist," His mom jokes, digging her elbow into his side. Makoto laughs and shies away from her touch, not offended by the put-down because he knows he's not artistic, nor will he ever be, and he's made peace with that. She snaps her fingers when a new idea comes to her. "Or maybe you two can go to the library together, or the beach."

"The problem is, he's just really ...difficult," Makoto struggles to find a word that isn't asshole to describe Haruka. "I don't think he's fully warmed up the idea of friendship just yet," Makoto complains. "How do I get him to trust me?"

Makoto's mother takes a plate from him and begins to wipe her towel over it to shine it. She smiles into the reflection of the plate as she scrubs it. "Maybe you could invite him over sometime, he must be a nice boy if you're trying to befriend him."

"Okay, I can do that. What if he sleeps over this weekend?" Makoto thinks, with the idea of Nagisa's party invitation in the back of his mind. Maybe some alcohol would loosen him up. He thinks, regretting the thought immediately after. Wow, Makoto. Drugging someone to get answers out of them. What a good friend you are.

"That sounds like a good idea!" His mother seems pleased. "I haven't seen you have a friend over in a while."

"What about me being grounded?" Makoto teases her.

"I'm sure we can forget that, I know you're not going to break curfew again, anyway," She winks. "So, what did you say his name was, again?"

"I never said his name," Makoto explains casually. "But is name is Haruka. Haruka Nanase."

The plate his mother is holding slips from her grasp and drops to the ground, shattering into a million shards. Makoto shouts with surprise, jumping away from the pieces of ceramic that are now scattered all over the kitchen floor.

"Mom!" Makoto yells, his eyes shooting from the mess on the floor to his mother, who has a look of genuine surprise written across her face. Her eyes, practically glazed over, are galaxies away, and it takes several loud repetitions of her name to snap her out of her reverie.

"Wha-? Oh goodness, I'll get a broom," She mumbles absentmindedly, scurrying off out of the room to the storage closet. She returns with a broom and a dustpan, kneeling down to sweep the glass into a pile. "I knew this would happen eventually," Makoto hears her whisper to herself. "But why now?"

"What's happening eventually?" Makoto demands, confused and scared. "What aren't you telling me?"

Instead of answering his question, his mother begins to shake her head, muttering to herself. "Makoto, I don't want you being friends with that boy," She says firmly, not meeting his gaze.

"What?" Makoto asks incredulously. "Why not?"

"It's just--" Her sentence is cut off with a shaky sigh. "He's bad news. I don't want you hanging out with him. Do you hear me?"

"You were just offering me advice on how to become friends with him two minutes ago!" Makoto's voice is rising with anger. "Why has everything changed all of a sudden? What did Haruka do to make you respond to him like this?" He ushers to the shattered plate on the floor.

"Makoto!" His mother's voice rises hysterically. "Listen to what I am saying! You're not being friends with Haruka Nanase, and that's final!"

Makoto clenches his jaw, staring at his mother for a moment longer before realizing he needs to get out of here before he says something he'll regret.

He's going to die if I don't do anything about it, is what he wants to say, just to rub it in her face as to how important this is to him. Someone's life is at stake here! The least you could do is have some compassion!

It unnerves him to no end that his mother isn't telling him what she knows about Haruka. In fact, if there's something off-putting about him that she knows but he doesn't, telling him could actually make this live-saving thing a bit easier.

Or harder, a logical voice in the back of his head reminds him.

Ignoring the voice of reason, Makoto brushes by his mother, avoiding pieces of glass and storming out of the kitchen.

"Where do you think you're going?" His mother demands, her voice miles away as Makoto is too lost in his own head.

"I'm going for a walk," Makoto shouts back venomously as he stomps towards the front door. He tugs on his sneakers and pulls on a jacket before tucking a house key in his back pocket and storming out of the house.

It is a warmer night, one of the warmest nights they've had this winter season, and for that Makoto is grateful; he hadn't had the time or patience to grab much beyond a jacket to bundle up. He thunders down the front steps and takes off in a run out of his front yard, not looking back. His vision is blurred with frustration as he bolts through his neighborhood. High tops pounding on worn-out concrete, he doesn't have a destination, and the only thing he knows is the way the wind feels as it threads through his knotted hair and  kisses his face.

The sun has long since set, and the only sources of light that keep Makoto from blindly stumbling forward are the occasional street lamp and the moon's soft glow. When he leaves the neighborhood, he realizes he's set himself on the path to go to the boardwalk.

Makoto doesn't normally come out here late at night. It's strange, a relatively new experience, but a good one nonetheless. It's a quiet night, with no one around but him and his thoughts. He stares at the moon, far off in the sky, as he walks, lost in thought. Hands shoved in his pockets, he hums under his breath and tries to forget about everything that's been bothering him lately. It feels like he hasn't gotten a break from this, not to mention he can't even talk to anyone about what he's going through.

There is no worse feeling than knowing you're alone and that there's no way out, he realizes.

His mind wanders to what Death said to him earlier.

Haruka Nanase certainly does not hate you.

Makoto didn't know if he could believe the man. How could Death be so sure of himself? He wonders doubtfully.

There is the same voice of reason, telling him he's missing something. Something that feels like everyone knows except him. He can't shake the feeling, and he knows he needs to talk to someone about this. His mother seems too bothered, his dad is out of the question, and the only other person, he can think of asking, well. He's not one to willingly give away information about himself.

As he approaches the beach, he notices a figure, a shimmering silhouette behind the moonlight, standing in the waves. The figure is holding a pair of sneakers in one hand, his bare toes curled in the sand, immersed by the low tide when it draws in. Makoto gravitates closer, feeling magnetized by the tide, and the figure fizzles into unmistakable recognition, the missing puzzle piece Makoto needs.

Haruka.