.

.

Makoto enjoys calm, relaxing summer nights.

That means playing video-games until late with Haru and eating spongy castella off a paper plate between them. It's the way things are supposed to be.

How it's always been for them.

Not with his heart racing like a war-drum and all his arm hairs raising on end, when his television glows dimly and howls. It never fails… Haru always chooses a new horror game to play, mostly a one-player since Makoto refuses to join him and huddles on the other end of the bed.

He's fascinated with getting scared, which is completely unreasonable in Makoto's eyes. As soon as the music heightens or something creaks, Makoto feels himself jump or cry out in terror.

"Aah, why do you like these kind of games, Haru… ?" The near-whining complaint goes ignored, as Haru tilts in place, crystal-blue eyes narrowed in focus, his fingertips pressing over the control-buttons to navigate. "Can't we just watch a movie instead… what about 'Now You See Me'?"

"… Why?" Haru speaks up after a long moment, his gaze never moving from the television, "This is fine."

Makoto drops his hands onto his grey striped covers, leaning over and exclaiming, "But they're scary! And it's dark out—!" The filthy, abandoned corridor on-screen noisily lights up, flashing blood-red repeatedly as a ghastly, shrieking woman pops into view.

Haru doesn't even flinch as Makoto yells at the top of his lungs. His eyes bug out and his hands flail up into the air. Makoto crawls fully onto his narrow bed, knocking aside their notebooks and going up on his knees. He ducks his face into Haru's left shoulder, against the slim-fit, lemon tee-shirt.

"It's not that scary…"

Makoto shouts in protest, voice muffled against him, "YES — YES, IT IS!"

Despite his better judgment, he lifts up his head as Haru snorts faintly and clicks to EXIT the game. Makoto peeks through his fingers, sighing in relief as his television flips off.

"Haru—"

"Goodnight," Haru says absently, patting his washed out jeans for his cellphone and heading towards the door. Makoto stares after him on the bed, genuine surprise flicking over his expression.

"Haruka, where—!"

There's no response but Makoto's bedroom door quietly sliding closed.

.

.

Back in grade school, he always chose the sleeping mat next to Haru's.

During nap-time, Makoto found himself gravitating towards the other boy, fisting Haru's woolen blanket, pulling himself closer.

Nagisa calls him a snuggler, and it's not untrue. On his restless nights, either weighed by his anxiety or flooding with excitement, Makoto drifts in and out of sleep, or he grabs a pillow to hold. It's comforting, and in a way, familiar to him. When Haru stays over, Makoto worries about his nocturnal habits. His best friend seems to never complain, leaving Makoto's hand tangled in his.

It's always been that way.

Makoto steals one of the pillows, burrowing down in the darkness and hugging it tightly to his chest. He frowns, jaw clenching and green eyes fluttering shut.

Pillows aren't warm and smell like Haru.

Haru.

He remembers him, two nights ago — Haru was lying on top of Makoto's pillows, rosy-cheeked and skin slightly tacky with sweat. He keened under Makoto's naked touch, bucking and writhing, tossing his head back with low, needy sounds. Long, pale fingers winding into Makoto's hair.

Makoto remembers every reddened, lovely mark against Haru's collar and neck. How swollen and puffy Haru's lips felt — that little half-smile when their mouths melded together. Their cocks pushing and lining up, and Haru's tongue stroking carefully inside Makoto's mouth as if he meant to savor him.

He meant every kiss, every curious, admiring touch… and Makoto hoped that maybe Haru…

They never talked about it. Makoto, out of fear of knowing, and Haru just… didn't acknowledge anything being different between them. But now he's left Makoto's house, without so much as an explanation.

Haru barely even looked him.

A rush of heat stings in Makoto's tear-ducts, and he squeezes his eyes harder to remain shut. A trembling, dismayed breath escapes him.

Haru… he regretted it, didn't he?… …

Light switches on and filters underneath his bedroom door,. Makoto's door slides open, the rest of it hitting Makoto's eyes.

He winces visibly, shielding his face with one hand and raising onto an elbow.

"Haru…?"

The other boy doesn't move from standing in the doorway, his forehead bunching into lines. Mouth thinning. His black-blue hair messily fanning and sticking up, as if Haru had been tossing and turning. There's a quilt tucked under Haru's armpit and Makoto gapes in awe, mouth slackening.

"Sorry," Haru admits, murmury. He scratches at his neck, right over the exposed, lightly bruising mark Makoto's teeth rewarded him. As if he's nervous. "I… didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

The heat overflows, dripping out of Makoto's eyes as he laughs softly, opening up his arms.

"Haru-chan, come here…"

And for once, Haru doesn't complain about the nickname, tossing the quilt aside and walking into the embrace. Makoto laughs again, cupping the back of his head and setting his chin on Haru's skull as the other boy knocks his face against Makoto's chest. Haru's fingers dig deeper into Makoto's apricot-colored V-neck.

"I'm fine," he whispers, smiling benevolently as Haru leans in. "Are you…?"

"Mmhm. Better."

Makoto's heart beats fast, like he's been swimming in the prelims, but hardly in fear.

Haru can be reasonable.

Sometimes.

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Free! is not mine. SO NOT SURPRISING NEWS BUT I REALLY LIKE WRITING FOR MAKOHARU. LIKE ! And I definitely have more fics coming up, and tbh, I just fell back into some old anime fandoms so watch for random fics popping up like daisies. Hope you guys enjoyed the fluffs! Any comments/thoughts appreciated!