Archive of Our Own

“I don’t get it.”

Haru weaved unsteadily with the bobbing of the skiff as it crested a particularly choppy patch of waves, white knuckles visible from where Rin sat at the stern of the boat, manning the motor. His skin had an unhealthy pallor to it, and the circles under his eyes looked darker than usual, but he still managed an unhappy, “Don’t get what?” The words were nearly lost between the sea spray and drone of the motor, but the look on his face was more than enough to get the point across.

Rin shook his head to dislodge a few strands of hair that were whipping over his face in the brisk wind as they sped along. “How you can get seasick. Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds? A fishboy—getting seasick. You spend half the time in the water already; riding on top of it suddenly makes you queasy?”

Haru fixed him with a glare, frown twisting sourly. “The same way a runner gets carsick. It’s about control—of which you have none.” Rin gave the throttle a bit of head, with the motor roaring a complaining response and Haru teetering dangerously as he scrambled to steady his grip on the gunwale. “S—stop that.”

“Stop ragging on my nautical skills then. I have plenty of control.” When Haru’s glare didn’t budge, only growing more dour, Rin rolled his eyes and reminded, “We’re almost there, you big baby.”

Haru responded by threading his arm between the frame and gunwale, popping the collar of his windbreaker up to keep the spray off his skin and clearly unhappy about the situation. Not that Rin could really blame him—though it was darkly amusing seeing someone usually so unruffled decidedly uncomfortable and irritated, like a cat who’d just been unceremoniously plopped in a bath.

“Still don’t see why we couldn’t just swim there…”

Rin let a fond smile curl at his lips; they’d had this conversation about a half-dozen times now, which meant Haru had moved on from outright contrariness to throwing himself a pity party. “Because I’ve got a cooler full of food here and a propane camp grill.” He dared a glance over at Haru, sparing a moment from keeping his eye on the little island looming larger before them, and found Haru with his face half buried in his crossed arms, one dark eye fixed on Rin with all the accusation he could muster. “Or what, would you rather we tie it to a barge and tug it along behind us?”

“Then I could’ve swum and you could pilot the boat…”

Rin snorted. “Like hell I was gonna sit around unloading everything while you flopped around on the sand waiting for your huge ass to dry just so we could eat.” A pause as a thought occurred to him. “Or was that your intention? You get to beach yourself and lounge like royalty because—” He pitched his voice higher in mockery, “—‘Sorry Rin, but you know I can’t shift back til I’m dry~’ leaving me to set up all our shit and you wandering up the bank right about when I’ve got the mackerel fillets on the grill?”

A tiny little spark of excitement predictably flared in Haru’s eye at the mention of mackerel. “…It’s not technically shifting back; biped isn’t my default—and while we’re at it—” He lifted his head, indignant of a sudden. “I’m not a fish boy, I’m—”

“Good god, are we gonna have the dolphins are mammals talk again? Because I’m pretty sure by this point I can trace your entire evolutionary history.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the island. “Now just sit back and relax; our island getaway awaits, my fishy lord.”

Haru let the final insult pass without comment, hunkering down again in the belly of the little skiff while Rin steered them expertly toward a rickety dock. He’d scrimped and saved for three months to afford the fee to rent the island—although ‘rent the island’ sounded a lot more glamorous than the reality of the situation. He could probably toss a rock and hit the other side of the little scrap of land that jutted up from the seabed, but there was at least some sparse tree cover and distance enough from the mainland to provide some semblance of privacy, and the warm, crisp sand and bracing surf and clear blue sky above rendered the island the perfect day-trip getaway. Well, perfect if you could hold your lunch while cresting the chop on the way there.

He killed the motor, rubbing a hand sympathetically between Haru’s shoulder blades as he stepped forward to bring the boat in to dock. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Haru just grunted—but lifted his head so that Rin’s fingers trailed over his crown as he pushed past. Rin snapped up the line and cleanly hitched the skiff to one of the cleats on the dock, hastily tying it off and helping steady the boat. He glanced back at Haru, one brow cocked. “See? Safe and sound. Nothing to worry about.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Well I was—worried you were gonna toss your breakfast back into the sea.” He snorted at the predictable glare Haru leveled at him and held a hand out. “C’mon, you can stand on the dock and I’ll hand stuff to you so you’re not stuck in the wobbly boat anymore.” Haru didn’t argue, clearly too exhausted from the journey to whine about being the object of Rin’s good-natured ridicule.

Rin hefted the cooler onto one shoulder, easing it onto the dock with Haru’s help, then followed up with the grilling and eating utensils and a duffel bag holding a change of clothes for when they headed back to the mainland. Checking around to be sure he’d unloaded everything, Rin glanced up, mouth open to suggest they make two trips rather than straining themselves to carry everything in one—then fell silent, struck by the expression on Haru’s face.

He’d turned into the sea breeze blowing in, dark strands of hair whipping in the wind, and his eyes were closed as he took in a deep breath. There was a flush to his cheeks, color returning now that he had his legs steady beneath him, and Rin could almost hear the excited hitch to his heartbeat at the thought of soon diving into the deep blue.

Not for the first time, he felt a twinge of regret for the path their lives had taken; not because they’d opted to share their lives together, not because he’d made his father’s dream of glory his own—but because those things, bound inextricably, meant having to tear Haru away from something he needed as badly as Rin needed him: the sea.

He tried to remember how they’d gotten here—not to the island, not to Iwatobi, but here, as them, to this point in their lives.

The first time he’d ever seen Haru—it had been from the low angle of glancing up into the stands from Lane 5 following a swim run at Iwatobi SC during Freestyle training. He’d started the long commute from the other side of town every afternoon, as soon as school let out, just because it…felt right. Sousuke wanted him to stick with Sano SC; Asahi and Kisumi too—but they didn’t understand. They didn’t see that it wasn’t enough to just swim, that he had to swim at Iwatobi SC, where even if he couldn’t make that dream relay team his father had, he could at least share the same water as him, and so there he’d been, swim cap in his hand and goggles hanging around his neck, craning around to watch that tall lanky kid—Tachibana, he’d remembered the name from tournaments before—chatting up a quiet sort dangling over the railing in the stands, an unhappy scowl fixed firmly on his features.

Before he’d ever learned Haru’s name, he’d known one thing outright: Nanase Haruka was odd. He always stared at the water with a hunger glinting in his eyes, like he was silently critiquing every swimmer out there and just aching to dive in and show them what was what, but come every tournament, there Tachibana would be lining up behind the starting blocks, and there Haru would be, slumped forward in his seat in the stands, shoulders hunched, scowl sour and unchanging as the sea.

“Haru…can’t swim in the pool,” Tachibana—who quickly became ‘Makoto’, because there was just something strangely endearing about him, like you couldn’t not like him—had allowed, hedging, when Rin had finally pulled him aside before practice one afternoon and jerked his chin at Makoto’s one-man support squad to ask why he never joined them for laps.

“Ah,” Rin had nodded simply, quizzical stare still fixed on Haru—who, on noticing he was being watched, quickly glanced away and feigned interest in the group of new club members practicing Butterfly at the far end of the pool. He’d supposed it couldn’t be helped—if you couldn’t swim, you couldn’t swim, but then why would Haru keep coming day after day, dogging Makoto’s heels as far as the locker rooms before secreting himself away in the stands to watch the others swim with an expression that shouted take me with you!

But Makoto never elaborated, and it was only one afternoon, right before practice started, when Rin found himself alone in the changing area with Haru for the very first time (courtesy of Makoto making a run to Reception to pay his monthly club dues), that he realized this actually didn’t sit well with him at all, and before he could stop himself, he was asking, “So are you sick or something? Or you just don’t know how to swim?”

Haru had started, like he’d been slapped, eyes flaring wide and brows drawing together in offense—and he’d opened his mouth once, then closed it, then opened it again before he ground out, “…I can swim fine.”

He’d stalked out, arms crossed, after that, and then Rin had just been even more confused, because what did it mean if the kid could swim, obviously wanted to swim, but then didn’t swim?

Apparently if Rin wanted any answers, he would have to work for them—so work he did, and by the end of the day, he’d learned Haru’s full name—Nanase Haruka, who did not appreciate Rin’s comment that Now we’re the girly-named boys trio!—his favorite food—mackerel, fresh-caught—and that he lived with his grandmother while his mother worked a part-time job and his father lived out-of-prefecture for business. Haru wasn’t much for conversation, so most of these points were helpfully supplied by Makoto, which Rin hadn’t really minded at the time, though it’d made him all the more determined to pry real, honest chit-chat from Haru.

He’d tried to start things off slowly—an invitation first to share sherbet from the conbini near the club after practice (his treat!), then an offer to bring along a new video game he’d just purchased with three months’ allowance in exchange for dinner at Makoto’s place that weekend, followed quickly by a suggestion to go see the latest Pixar flick playing at the local cineplex the following day. By Monday, he’d figured he had well and truly wormed his way into their water-tight friendship, which had meant he could now afford to be a little nosier.

“So if you’re not sick, and you know how to swim, how come you don’t join the swim club?” He had his back flush against the wall as he rested on the bench, head thrown back to stare up at Haru in his usual post, arms folded as he leaned against the railing to watch the swim club members do their laps.

Even from his awkward angle, he hadn’t missed the subtle twitch of irritation, nor Haru’s muttered, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Huh?” he’d squawked, towel falling from where he’d had it draped over his shoulders, and a sharp whistle and command to C’mon, Matsuoka! from Coach Sasabe had him cursing softly as he scrambled back to the poolside, sparing only a confused frown over his shoulder and wondering if he’d ever be able to get a straight answer from Haru.

“…He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Makoto had offered with an uncomfortable smile when Rin had grumbled his confusion while they waited their turn in line, but Rin had just shot him a roll of the eyes. Makoto could be a real pushover when it came to Haru—when it came to anything, honestly—and he was a nice guy and all, but nice guys tended to finish last, and Rin didn’t like losing to anyone. And that included Haru and his stupid secrets.

And so the dance had continued for several weeks—Rin prodding Haru to at least come down and sit on the benches, or maybe dangle his toes in the water, or suggesting they all three go clamming on a Sunday because My mom makes the best chowder!, but Haru always turned him down with a firm shake of his head or waited for Makoto to be more cordial in his rejection.

Still, Rin hadn’t been about to throw in the towel just yet—and he finally managed to lure the pair to his home one hot, sticky Saturday afternoon. It was miserable, the air heavy and close even in the spacious back yard, but his mother was running errands all afternoon, and Gou was at their grandmother’s place, so they had the run of the house for a good few hours—plenty of time to figure out exactly how long the stick up Haru’s butt was.

Rin received his education ten seconds after doing what was probably the stupidest thing he’d yet done in his young years, when he’d smuggled the garden hose around from the side of the house to merrily blast Makoto and Haru, who’d been lounging on the back porch hoping vainly to catch a stray breeze.

His peals of excited laughter had been drowned out by Makoto’s frantic Haru! and had died altogether when he caught the white flash of panic in Haru’s eyes as he weighed some unknown options in his mind—before hastily dropping his trousers (underwear and all) and curling into a fetal position. His shirt clung wet where the hose had doused him, and his hair was darker than usual, plastered to his temples—but that was all just background noise to the sight of Haru’s bare legs melting together, like fleshy wax, except not wax—more like rubber, and not flesh, not human flesh at least, because holy shit, he was sprouting a fucking tail, and now it suddenly made sense why he couldn’t swim, why he could swim but he couldn’t swim, why he came to the swim club and watched and waited and clearly longed, but never did anything.

“Y…you…” Rin mumbled weakly, hose flopping weakly on the ground as his sandals sank into the waterlogged sod, and he swallowed thickly, taking hesitant steps toward the porch where Makoto had sunk to his knees, helping Haru to support himself with a shoulder under his arm. His eyes traced the long, clean line where Haru’s hips melted from soft, pink flesh into something darker, smoother, hardier—a thick, powerful blade of a tail, tipped with wide paddle-like flukes that only made Rin wonder with a giddy excitement just how fast he had to be with that thing once he got going. “You…look awesome!” he’d breathed.

He hadn’t been able to help it—it’d just come out. He knew he ought to apologize, knew he ought to be freaking out right now, and he was, he was in his own way, but it was hard to remember to be disgusted when he was too busy being awe-struck because damn, if this was what I can swim fine and Haru can’t swim in the pool really meant, then this had been the best worst decision he’d ever made.

Because Haru couldn’t just swim, he could swim, could probably even outpace the little motorboat his grandmother kept tied up on her dock that she let him putter about her cove in. He’d reached out a hand, quick at first, before gentling his approach, aware of Haru’s and Makoto’s eyes on him, and poked at one tail fluke, grin broadening when he felt the give of real, rubbery flesh.

“…It’s cause you got wet?” he’d prodded, daring a glance up at Haru, whose dark, wary gaze was still fixed on Rin.

“Yeah,” Makoto responded for him wearily, fingers visibly tightening around Haru’s shoulder. “He’ll…go back, when he dries out.” Go back—to having legs again? Why the hell would he want that? If Rin had been in his place, he’d probably be in the water 24-7, because if you could do this, if you had this, then why on earth would you want to give it up?

And here, Haru rolled his shoulder, bracing his arms to support himself awkwardly. “…Satisfied now?” His tone was sharp and venomous, at odds with the cool, even expression on his face, like he couldn’t work the muscles properly anymore, or hadn’t the strength to do so.

It had taken Rin a moment to process the question, though—and when he responded, it was with harsh, grating honesty: “…Hell no! Of course not!” He’d scrambled up onto the porch, sliding down onto his knees and grabbing Haru by the shoulders. “I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me! This is…this is…” He glanced down at the tail again, recalled the panic in Makoto’s voice and the flash of fear in Haru’s eyes, then frowned to himself and apologized softly, “I’m…sorry. I didn’t think…I just wanted…” He sighed to himself. “Just—you always looked so sad, sitting there in the stands watching us! And you wouldn’t tell me why, so I thought maybe…” He shrugged. “Anyway—I was…a jerk. But I swear I won’t tell anyone! Pinky promise!” He held his finger up for proof, and when Haru didn’t immediately accept it, he grabbed the wrist nearest to him—nearly sending Haru toppling over as Makoto frantically rushed to prop him up—and looped their pinkies together. “So—let me be your friend? An honest to goodness one?”

Haru had only responded with whatever and a sideways-slant to his gaze, but Rin had known him long enough to understand that this was as close to acquiescence as you were ever going to get out of Haru, so he accepted it.

He’d been bursting with questions—was Haru the only one, or were his whole family shapeshifters? Could he breathe underwater, or was he like humans in that he had to surface for air? Did he come from the water and live on the land now, or had he always been like this?—but he wisely kept them to himself, opting to instead attempt to soothe over the whole matter with an offer: “…Wanna go swimming?”

And here Makoto held up a hand, slowing him before he got too far ahead of himself, “Wait—we can’t? The swim club is—“

Rin had just waved him off. “So we won’t go to the SC!” He directed his offer to Haru, here. “The ocean’s fine, though, right? As long as there’s no one around?” When Haru’s brows stitched together but no protest followed, Rin felt his hook sink in—got him. “My grandma’s cottage butts up against a cove, and she’s got pearl-diving rights to the whole thing! So no one can swim or fish there without her permission!” He made giddy little fists for want of some way to express his excitement. “It’s only a twenty-minute train ride away! And there’s still plenty of daylight left!” He lifted his brows, glancing back and forth between the pair. “So??”

He hadn’t missed the light that flared in Haru’s eyes as he left the suggestion floating between them—nor had he missed the flicker of concern in that gaze as he glanced over at Makoto, waiting for a subtle duck of the head before he firmed his jaw and allowed hesitantly, “…I guess…we can go check it out.”

It had been another ten minutes of basking in the sun before the moisture had sufficiently evaporated to allow Haru to shift back, and Rin tried not to gawk too obviously as the smooth, rubbery skin faded to the familiar peach of bare flesh, a line ripping through the center of the tail to return Haru to two shaky legs. Makoto steadied him on one side, with Rin at the other, and they eventually managed to track down his bottoms to restore some dignity to the situation. “What do you do when it rains?” Rin had asked as they waited on the train platform, and Haru had shrugged ambivalently and responded, “Don’t leave the house.”

“A twenty-minute train ride” had been a bit of an exaggeration, and it was only after two changeovers that they’d found themselves climbing the steep gravel path to Rin’s grandmother’s place—with Rin buzzing the doorbell merely out of formality before barging in, announcing that he and some friends were going swimming in the cove, and barreling straight through and out the back door, Makoto and Haru in tow and his grandmother’s confused ”What was that? Rin?” ringing in his ears.

It was a rocky little beach—not the soft, warm sand of the public beaches, just a stretch of dirt and broken shell and sea debris. But Rin had never cared, and from the look in Haru’s eye, Haru didn’t either. He’d been just about to make a smart remark, something that would surely brand him the wisecrack of the group, when Haru did it again—he stopped, reined himself in, and turned his attention ever so subtly to Makoto, as if waiting for some sign or signal. It came in the form of a tight, forced smile and subtle nod, and then Haru was off, stripping as he charged down the bank, shirt flying off in one direction, belted pants and underwear in another, socks and shoes lost somewhere along the way, and Rin prayed his grandmother wasn’t watching this from up the hill, about to march down and chew Rin out for letting an exhibitionist frolic in the cove her family had tended for generations.

He drew up alongside Makoto, watching fondly as Haru charged into the spray and dove headfirst, not surfacing again for several long minutes—did he have gills? Rin really should’ve gotten a better look earlier—because how could he not watch? Haru was always so quiet, so buttoned-down (sometimes quite literally, given his wardrobe); any emotions he felt, he kept bottled up inside to leak out through his eyes or his voice. But just now, he was really free, and from the looks of Makoto next to him, it’d been a long time since Makoto had seen him like this, too.

Rin snorted softly, casting a sidelong glance at Makoto. “…So does he always ask for permission like that?” And Makoto actually gave a little start, the fond smile on his face fading to a firm press of his lips, a thin line that told Rin he’d asked something he shouldn’t have.

“…He’s not asking me for permission,” was the only response.

Cryptic comments aside, though, Rin was beginning to feel the itch to slip into the water himself, Haru’s urges almost infectious, and after pausing just at the tree brake where the leaf litter gave way to sandy scrub and stones to watch, dumbfounded, as Haru broke the surface and breached tall before flopping back into the water with a loud splat, he quickly tugged off his shirt and shorts, discarding his shoes and socks with a bit more care than Haru had, and charged into the surf.

In years to come, Rin would realize that, while swimming with Haru would never entirely lose its allure—swimming with him that first time, that first moment when he’d slipped into the water and felt Haru’s presence there sharing space alongside him…nothing would ever compare. It had been like an electric buzz, like a hook had sliced right through him and jerked him forward, urging him along, to follow, to chase, and he hadn’t been expecting it, had thought it’d just be fun and innocent, so truthfully it’d scared him.

He’d nearly sucked in a lungful of water, scrambling back to the surface, and suddenly those old myths he’d read about, with sailors lured to their drowning deaths by merfolk, sounded like they might not be so far-fetched after all—until he felt Haru’s shoulder coming up solid beneath his arm, rocketing him back to that glittering surface to breathe the free air and slapping him on the back a few times with a wary frown.

As he’d floated there, panting, practically clinging to Haru while Makoto treaded water a few meters away, looking on in worry, he’d chuckled darkly in disappointment with himself. “…Okay, maybe it’s for the best you don’t join the swim club.”

He’d quickly gotten used to the Pull after that—it’d just snuck up on him the first time, that was all, and in subsequent encounters, he learned to recognize what it was, even if he didn’t quite know how to describe it. He’d asked Makoto about it once, only receiving a concerned frown and a shake of his head, explaining that he’d never felt anything like that swimming with Haru. It probably should have worried Rin, or at least confused him, but he eventually concluded that he really didn’t care what it meant—only that it was powerful, and that he wanted to learn to surf it, like cresting a wave and using that pull, that drive and momentum, to power himself forward. Something inside him burned to master the Pull, maybe because he felt like it’d gotten the jump on him that first time; he’d never been terribly fond of losing, and Haru’s ridiculous allure or siren call or whatever it might be was no different. He wouldn’t let it use him; he’d use it.

So, he did.

Butterfly training with Haru was like nothing else—sure, he could’ve concentrated on his Freestyle; he was faster that way, after all. But it would never be a fair ‘fight’ in Freestyle, and between Rin’s dolphin kick and goading Haru into adopting that flashy characteristic arm stroke for their mock races, they were a decent match when they raced in Butterfly. He wasn’t sure when he’d decided he’d make that his stroke, but before he knew it, whenever he stepped into the club, he found himself immediately trotting over to join the Butterfly group, flashing Haru a knowing grin and wondering what sorts of critique he might offer after every practice; not that Rin ever needed any critique—but it was still interesting hearing his comments. Even if they were laced with riddles like you need to stop fighting the water so much or the water didn’t like you today.

So yeah, he could’ve dominated the practice groups with his Freestyle; but…Butterfly meant something more, made it less a race and more…like the closest he could come to swimming with Haru in front of all and sundry. Somehow, with Butterfly, he could slip into the water and imagine that Haru was there, swimming just in front of him, and he could feel that phantom pull that poured more energy into his stroke, more power into his kick, as if his whole body was screaming I’m coming! Wait for me!

By the end of the summer SC tournament, standing there in the courtyard with flushed cheeks and medals for the 50- and 100-m Butterfly dangling heavy from his neck, he’d already resolved to beg his mother to rescind the invitation to study in Sydney and sell back that plane ticket. Unless Australian waters were teeming with mermen, he was never going to find a better training partner than Haru. It wasn’t running away—it was giving himself the best chance, taking this opportunity he’d just been handed and using it to its fullest. And he liked to think his old man would be prouder of him for sticking it out in this podunk town, honing his talents in the surf and spray of the same waters his father had fished, instead of flying halfway around the world just because he thought scouts might sit up and take notice of someone who’d been training internationally.

They swam in the cove almost every day, until the sun sank below the horizon and Rin’s grandmother squawked at them to come in, that sharks liked to sneak in around dusk and would bite their toes off. Makoto often had to stay behind on the weekends, relegated to babysitting his younger siblings, and so the long summer stretched on from July into August and September with training, training, training. Haru didn’t seem to care; swimming was swimming, and he was always glad to be in the water and only gave Makoto those confusing looks every now and then these days.

“I’m gonna go Olympic,” he’d confessed one day, knees drawn up to his chest as he perched on a rock and stared out over the glinting surface washing over purple in the fading light. Haru had just floated there silent, never questioning, never probing—and Rin hadn’t known if he was happy or hurt by that. Maybe Haru didn’t know what it meant—or maybe he didn’t care about Rin’s dreams. Or maybe Rin was just feeling the absence of Makoto keenly, unable to divine from the silent pauses in Haru’s language all of the things he wasn’t saying. Sometimes he didn’t so much mind that afternoons alone with Haru were, by and large, silent—and others, like just then…he kind of wished Haru would say something, even if it was to call him an idiot or to tell him he was chasing a pipe dream.

There were days they couldn’t swim—days the rainy season showed itself or a typhoon with a name they couldn’t pronounce bore down upon Iwatobi, headed up from the south—but companionable silence was something Rin was learning to appreciate, and he’d lie splayed on Makoto’s bed, skimming a book on dolphin kick theory while Haru and Makoto played some video game involving creepy creatures of the deep, or else they’d practice indoor training, racing up and down the creaky steps of Haru’s grandmother’s house. Haru would often make a sour face at the suggestion of land training or lifting weights—but Makoto was always happy to oblige, so they’d leave Haru to putter about the kitchen making lunch while Rin and Makoto tried to out-lift each other or see who could reach the second-floor landing first with 5-kilo dumbbells in each hand.

When he’d noticed one such afternoon that his portion was a bit bigger than usual and that his miso soup had been replaced with a protein bar, he’d raised a brow at Haru who’d just shrugged and reminded, “You’re going Olympic, aren’t you?”

It’d been the best thing he’d heard since getting accepted into that swim school in Sydney.

Spring brought graduation from elementary school and new experiences in middle school, and the prospect of an actual swim team brought an abrupt end to lazy afternoons jogging to the swim club after classes—it had finally been a chance to be on a real team, with tournaments like Prefecturals and Regionals and (Rin barely dared to hope) Nationals all within his reach, his for the taking. Sano-chuu’s team wasn’t bad, and between himself and Sousuke, Rin had been quite sure that they’d dominate the Butterfly—but the loss of friends like Asahi and Kisumi to Iwatobi-chuu hurt more than he’d wanted to admit at the time, and weekends were no longer excuses to try and sneak Haru into the huge open tubs at public bathhouses, occupied now with solo-training and invitations from his sempai for mock matches at the local SC.

Things just felt off, like something was missing, and he told himself he just missed the easy days of summer, where swimming was just swimming, and that now he had to get serious, to buckle down, because he’d thrown away that chance to get some international experience under his belt, and now he needed to make good on his vow—to build himself up into Olympic greatness without any special treatment or experience abroad.

Before he’d realized it, it’d been two months since he’d spoken to Haru or Makoto in person, and the summer Prefectural tournament was mere days away. “You never invite those friends of yours over anymore,” his grandmother had mused when he’d dropped by to deliver some fruit from his mother, and he’d ducked his head in apology, grateful that she didn’t press the issue, because now it was awkward, and he was realizing he didn’t even know if Makoto and Haru were on the swim team (maybe Haru could have pulled off manager? Still, it was tempting fate…), had just assumed. Would he see them next week? Would he never see them again? Would—

His hand was in his pocket, sweatily palming his cellphone as he shakily dialed up Haru’s number.

“…What.”

”H—hey? It’s me. I just…” And he really ought to have prepared something, a speech or excuses for his absence or casual banter, but all he had was eager fumbling and a dry mouth, and Haru had never enjoyed either of those things. He swallowed thickly, closing his eyes and stepping outside so his grandmother couldn’t eavesdrop. “…I’m at my grandmother’s place, and…it’s a nice day? And I haven’t seen you guys in ages, and I’ve got the afternoon free, and—and…” How many excuses was too many? Had he already passed the point of propriety?

There was a long pause, and then, “…Makoto’s in Tottori with some sempai from the team. They invited him along to shop for a new suit.” If Haru felt hurt by being left out of the experience, he didn’t show it—but then, Rin had never been all that adept at picking up on those cues.

It wasn’t a rejection, but he’d clearly given Rin an out. As if Rin would’ve called like this if he’d wanted an out, and he tried to keep the smile out of his voice. “Meet you at the station by her place in a half hour?”

Haru hadn’t spoken a word the whole trek to Rin’s grandmother’s, and Rin supposed this was fine for a relationship like he had with Makoto, where conversation to fill the awkward silences wasn’t really necessary, but Rin was starting to feel an uncomfortable itch, like Haru was waiting for him, and it eventually came out in a bubbling torrent of questions on So how’s Iwatobi-chuu? Is the swim team any good? Are you on it? Have you had any close calls? Is Makoto gonna be in the tournament next week? What strokes is he swimming? Have you been doing much swimming lately? and Haru had perked up at the last one, which caught Rin off-guard because he hadn’t honestly been expecting any response.

“…No. Not…no, we haven’t found any…” He shook his head in lieu of finishing the statement, and Rin felt a sick churning as he realized what Haru wasn’t saying.

He stopped in place, sneakers crunching the gravel beneath his feet. “You mean…you haven’t been swimming since…” When was the last time they’d come up here? April? March? It’d been freezing, and neither Rin nor Makoto had had the fortitude to do more than wade in against Rin’s grandmother’s strict objections, but Haru hadn’t seemed to mind the chill. His lips twisted into an angry frown—frustration with himself for not thinking about this, irritation at Makoto for not fixing the situation, and something undefinable for Haru. Confusion, but a thread of ire too—because Haru knew how to use a phone; he could’ve called Rin!

He reached out, grabbed Haru by the shoulders, and shook him lightly for good measure. “You gotta tell me these kinds of things! I’m not Makoto; I’m stupid and I don’t think—so you gotta say something if you want it from me, ‘kay?”

Haru stared at him for a long moment before shrugging, shunting his gaze off to the side. “…You’ve been busy. You’ve got the tournament coming up, and—”

“What does that have to do with you not picking up the phone and saying you want to take a dip in the cove?” And now Rin was angry, though he couldn’t tell at whom—probably Haru, but Makoto should have said something. “I mean—yeah I’ve been busy; you guys have too, I guess. But that doesn’t mean I can’t spare a couple of hours to…” He frowned at himself; why did it feel like he was more upset about Haru not having been swimming in months than Haru himself? “…Don’t you want to swim?”

“Of course,” was Haru’s immediate reply, and his gaze flicked just over Rin’s shoulder to the gravel path behind them that continued on for another few hundred meters to Rin’s grandmother’s cottage, as if he were beginning to tire of the conversation and just wanted to hurry and get in the water. “But…you need to train—so it’s better for you to—”

Haru cut off at Rin’s loud frustrated groan, and Rin abruptly released him, slapping a hand to his face; this idiot. His shoulders slumped in relief, and he let a tiny, long-suffering smile bloom on his lips. “Of course I need to train. But that’s not what the team’s for.” When Haru didn’t seem to immediately twig with understanding, he continued, looping an arm around Haru’s neck and dragging him along, “I mean, the team’s a means to an end—a way to get noticed.” He snorted. “You know it’s different with you.”

Haru pulled away, a frown in his voice. “What do you mean?”

Rin’s brows quirked up. “Well, you know. The—Pull, or whatever.” The Pull—that tickling jerk just behind his navel that worked its way into his chest, tugging him forward. Like something was chasing him and he wanted desperately to escape but he wasn’t scared, he was just excited, so maybe it wasn’t escape he longed for but the thrill of the chase. It was a lure—he wasn’t the hunted, he was the hunter. And that was what he’d been missing at Sano-chuu, what had spurred him to action today. He missed that feeling that swimming with Haru filled him with; had forgotten what it felt like…couldn’t channel it into his stroke anymore. “I just—I don’t…really feel it lately. I guess I’m going through withdrawal.” He forced a smile, but Haru didn’t seem to be following at all, and the smile quickly faded. “You…don’t feel it?”

Haru seemed to mull this over, before shaking his head slowly, and Rin despaired—maybe it was all in his head, maybe he’d romanticized a bout of mild food poisoning into some kind of linked destiny or something, as if Haru being a mermaid or whatever wasn’t already magical enough—until Haru asked with what must have passed for curiosity with him, “…What’s it like?”

“Huh?”

He waved a hand. “The…pull?”

Rin’s brows drew together—and the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes shifted to the soft rustle of seagrasses as he lifted the latch on his grandmother’s gate one-handed. Haru deserved to know—he wanted Haru to know; hadn’t that been what the disappointment from before had signaled? But for some reason…just now didn’t seem right. It felt like…it ought to be something special, when he told him. That there ought to be a mood, and that this wasn’t it. So he unloosed his arm and twirled through the gate, grin wide as he teased, “…I’ll tell you some other time!”

Makoto showed up just as the sun was making its way toward the horizon, picking his way shakily across the rocky shoal bordering the cove. Rin called out to Haru, waving to draw his attention to their third, but was ignored—so he paddled over on his own, hauling himself up and out. With a nod to the plastic bag Makoto had left leaned up against a tree on the shore, he teased, “Get something flashy to get your ass kicked in next week?”

“Oi, who says I’m gonna get my ass kicked?” Makoto returned with mock offense, brows raised. “Maybe I bought my victory suit.” He jerked his chin out to the ripple of water where Haru had just surfaced for a breath before slipping back down into the blackening gloom of early evening. “So he finally gave in?”

“Gave in?”

Makoto’s smile waxed fond. “He’s been trying to work up the nerve to call you for weeks. I think it’s been torture, watching me at practice every day.”

“T—torture?!”

Makoto laughed. “Calm down, I don’t mean literally.” And Rin felt his pulse palpably settle, the hairs on his neck lying flat again; Makoto rarely teased like this, so it was hard to tell when he wasn’t being entirely serious, and Haru had admitted he’d that he’d been holding back… “I meant that…he’s missed this.” He glanced out across the cove again, and Rin followed his gaze, trying to figure out what exactly it was Makoto was seeing. When he spoke up again, his voice was a bit fainter, further away, even though he was still standing in the same spot: “…I don’t really like swimming in the ocean. I try, sometimes, for him. Before—he missed it so much, and I could tell he wanted me to enjoy it with him, so I tried, I really did, but…” He shook his head. “Just…I guess I wanted to thank you? It takes a lot for him to open up to new people, and I know maybe you don’t see it, or that he has a hard time showing it, but I think he really likes you?”

Rin felt his cheeks heating at the compliment and pulled his knees to his chest, glancing away. “I—it’s not a big deal. It sucks that he can’t swim even though he really wants to, so I just…this was all I could do.”

“It’s more than that, though?” Makoto cocked his head, seemingly confused that Rin wasn’t catching what he was implying. “I think you’re the first friend he’s ever had that he can be like this with.”

“Like…what?”

And that fond smile was back, as Makoto nodded toward the shape in the water slowly tracking a wake toward them, ripples giving him away. “Free.”

After that, Rin never closed himself off again, keeping lines of communication as open as possible, and if Haru ever went too long without begging for a trip to the cove, Rin was clearing his schedule and ordering Makoto to have his mother pack a picnic for three—“And make sure she puts in some of that karaage she knows I like!” Sousuke gave him looks whenever he whipped out his phone surreptitiously during class, and the captain made him swim an extra twenty laps every time he missed a Saturday practice, but it was worth it to find Haru waiting on the platform, practically vibrating with energy alongside Makoto’s lanky form (which was getting lankier every time Rin met up with them—he was gonna be a giant).

Prefecturals passed without incident, and while Rin placed rather respectably at Regionals in Butterfly, he didn’t advance beyond that. He supposed he ought to have felt more bitter about the loss, but it was hard to muster up too much frustration when he would have plenty more chances to catch scouts’ eyes and an entire summer vacation to spend with Haru and Makoto making up for his poor performance.

Year 1 of middle school soon turned into Year 2 in a storm of cherry blossoms, and another summer passed by in a flash to send them coasting into Year 3—and suddenly it was time to start making serious life choices, Rin was telling himself as he chewed on the end of his pen while staring down at the admissions form for Samezuka Academy.

A swimming powerhouse, not just in Tottori Prefecture but the whole Chuugoku region, Samezuka was within easy commuting distance of home—though he’d likely wind up bunking on-campus—and his clear destination if Rin was at all serious about stepping onto the international stage. It was time to put aside childish notions of pulling himself up by his bootstraps and spurning all opportunities to make a name for himself where it counted; it was time to get going.

It was only—he wasn’t sure how to bring up with Haru and Makoto the proposal that they all go there together.

It wasn’t a matter of being lonely—he’d survived three years thus far without them; what was another three? It was just…it wouldn’t just be three years. It’d be another three years, and then who knew how long after that. At this rate, he was never going to get a chance to lightly slap Makoto’s back to smooth out their matching team jackets or glance up into the stands and see Haru nearly toppling over the railing wearing a jersey to match Rin’s own and flashing him a stony-faced thumbs-up—and he’d held back all these years, so just once, just once he wanted to have everything he desired. His friends, his swimming, all of it.

Makoto had nowhere near the drive Rin did—and Rin caught himself often wondering if Makoto’s fear of the ocean extended to all water, but he could never bring himself to ask—and Haru…well, Haru was Haru, and it almost seemed cruel to drag him along to a school known for being a swimming powerhouse when the guy would never be able to go anywhere near the natatorium without donning three layers of clothing. But he’d never claimed to be selfless, and if those two hadn’t figured out that he could be kind of an asshole when he wanted to after all this time, then that was their own damn fault.

He’d brought it up as they watched the sun set at the cove—and Rin’s mind was such a whirling mess of stress and nerves that he couldn’t even appreciate that this could very well be one of the last sunsets they’d be able to watch together if things didn’t pan out the way Rin desperately hoped they might.

Charm and easiness failed him, regrettably, as he tripped over his words, his suggestions turning into pleas as they marked him silently, letting his I just…really want to spend these last few years with you guys. As much as possible peter out until his voice was lost in the sound of the tide washing out.

It was Makoto (and looking back, of course it had to have been Makoto; it was always Makoto who swooped in at times like this and eased the tension) who eventually put a sharp, sound end to Rin’s torture, smile audible in his voice as he quirked his brows and glanced over Rin’s shoulders with a knowing, “See? Didn’t I tell you, Haru-chan?”

Haru’s response had been a rude raspberry of bubbles and whap of the flat of his tail across the surface as he twisted around for a dive, abandoning the conversation in his usual fashion.

Makoto watched him go with a smile before reaching across to steady Rin with a hand at his shoulder, ducking down to peer into his face with, “…I told him you’d bring it up. He’s been working himself into a fit trying to figure out how to come out with it, and he was stubborn—saying he wanted to do it himself, wouldn’t let me, so I told him to just be patient, then. To wait for you this time.”

“Wait…for me?” And the knot in the pit of his stomach was back, because Makoto was never this confusing; he was supposed to be the honest, straightforward one who never spoke in circles or riddles, and Rin was tired now and Haru was probably off digging for sand dollars or something—and patently not here. This conversation hadn’t gone at all like he’d hoped; he’d been prepared for backtalk and stubbornness and wishy-washy I don’t know… but this? He couldn’t chase after Haru into the little nooks and crannies of the cove, and Makoto may as well have been speaking another language altogether, so lost was Rin in his words. He was—

“We got our acceptance letters last week.”

“You…what? Your what?” Rin’s brow crinkled, even more lost now. “To…where?”

That even, knowing smile was back. “You tease me about getting my ass kicked; but you know I ranked third at Regionals this year, right?”

And then everything fell into place, and Rin felt his cheeks heating with excitement. “Wait—you’re not pulling my leg? You’re going to Samezuka? With me?”

Makoto shrugged magnanimously. “More like you’re coming with us; Okyou-san said you just got your letter on Sunday.” Of course his grandmother had been the one to spoil his whole plan; he’d have to talk to her about that later.

Rin responded with a shove to his shoulder, but the loopy grin pasted on his face belied the genuine relief coursing through his veins, and he tugged his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth as he glanced out over the water, seeking out the tell-tale ripples Haru left behind when he dared peek out of his watery hideout. He hated having uncomfortable conversations like this and liked to use the water as much as a retreat as a respite—but that was too damn bad today, because even though it was nearly too dark to see anything and even though he’d already practically dried out from their earlier dip, there was no way he was going to miss another moment of swimming with Haru. He was going to make these final three years count.

With a sharp whoop, he dove in again and let the Pull draw him in.

Dorm life was something new to adjust to—Rin’s roommate was a loud, brash second-year named Mikoshiba (another swim team member who magnanimously offered to take Rin under his wing before learning that Rin’s Butterfly time was better than his), and he hadn’t shared living quarters in years, but with Samezuka’s brutal training regimen and the new welcome distraction of Makoto and Haru close at hand, he quickly slipped into an easy rhythm; nose to the grindstone six days a week with schoolwork and club activities and Saturday practices, and then a restful Sunday to spend as he pleased.

The cove was further away now—nearly an hour each way, with three changeovers instead of two—and Makoto’s absence was being keenly felt by his siblings, so more often than not, Makoto bowed out of trips to Rin’s grandmother’s to spend time with his family, leaving Haru and Rin to make the trek alone. While outings tended to feel more complete as a trio, Rin saw enough of Makoto throughout the week that he could bear a few Sundays a month making the trip alone with Haru, and once they hit the water, in all honesty, Rin struggled to focus on anything beyond the buzzing fizz of bubbles around him as he dove in, the crisp sharp chill that washed over him as he paddled past the first meter or so of sun-warmed surface, and that enticing, tantalizing jerk beckoning him forward, to follow that flash of blue-gray streaking away.

His legs burned with effort, his chest ached for a clean breath, but he would always hold it until the last possible moment, arms outstretched until it felt like they’d rip clear off, because he was almost there, reaching for something—Haru—just out of his grasp.

His head broke the surface with a loud gasp, and he wiped his face with one hand as he treaded water with the other, paddling awkwardly backward as Haru surfaced before him with far more elegance, head stretched back and face to the sun as he took in deep breaths to fill his lungs. Rin had tried to challenge him to a breath-holding contest once; his piss-poor loss had warned him never again to mistake Haru for anything remotely human, despite all outward appearances.

The cove seemed smaller these days—but that was probably just because they’d grown over the years. Rin was no longer the little sprout he’d been when they’d first met, shooting past 170 already, and while Haru was still a good few centimeters shorter than him on land, just now, the bulk of his tail alone was nearly a meter and a half—the cove was only a few meters deep at best, so give it much longer and Haru would have difficulty diving comfortably.

It was little things like this that sounded a ticking clock in Rin’s head, winding down with reminders that shortly, this would all be over. They were outgrowing this cove, but it still felt too soon. Like there was still so much left to say, to do.

“…What are you thinking about?”

Rin nearly swallowed water, so caught off guard was he by the unusually probing question from someone content to sit back and be a spectator in the lives of those around him, and he floated back a bit to place some space between them. Haru merely bobbed calmly in the gentle waves around them, watching Rin silently.

Rin coughed and wiped at his mouth, smiling to himself. “…Just about how this place felt like it used to be…bigger.” And it wasn’t a lie, even if it hadn’t been the whole truth of his musings.

Maybe Haru hadn’t caught his half-truth, or maybe he had and just politely chose to ignore it—for he glanced about the cove with an unreadable expression that carried a hint of reluctant acceptance, as if he too was just now noticing the same thing, and then offered hesitantly, “…You want to head into the bay?”

Rin’s legs faltered again, and he nearly ducked under—treading water was wearying, and the distraction of Haru asking all of these strange questions, making these wary offers, was helping nothing. He flicked a glance toward the mouth of the cove which opened up into the harbor beyond and the great, wide ocean even further out. So much water, so vast and deep and…dangerous. Water that wouldn’t hesitate to swallow you whole, no matter how great a swimmer you were, if you underestimated it.

Haru must have caught the flash of panic across his features—or maybe being around Makoto all these years had attuned his senses to this kind of thing—for he sidled a bit closer, spiraling around until the broad flat of his back faced Rin. “…You can hold on, if you want; I know where to go to avoid the trawlers, and…”

He trailed off, but Rin heard everything he didn’t say: I can get us there faster, I’ll be there if you tire, I won’t let anything happen to you, and maybe if he’d been Makoto, he might’ve been able to accept these unspoken promises and idle comments merrily, graciously. But he wasn’t, had never been anything remotely resembling Makoto, and so these silent words irritated, like tiny little jellyfish stings. Haru probably meant well, was doing the only thing he knew to do when faced with someone he wanted to enjoy spending time in the water but, for whatever reason, couldn’t.

But Haru was still here, baring his back to Rin, almost palpably eager to be free of the no-longer-welcome confines of the cove, and Rin could understand it—because Haru probably felt the call of something bigger than himself the same way Rin felt the Pull, like he needed to be there, that everything would suddenly feel right once he finally made it. And just because Rin hadn’t managed to catch up yet didn’t mean Haru deserved not to.

With a kick of his legs, he bobbed forward, tracing a finger down Haru’s spine to the jutting nob of a dorsal fin, curving back into an elegant swoop like he’d seen on dolphins in an aquarium in Tottori once. “Here?”

“Hold tight along the front—and watch out for—”

“Your tail, yeah yeah.” He curled his fingers into a solid grip, tensing the muscles in his arm—

—and nearly had it ripped from the socket, so sudden was the forward buck, momentum slow at first with the extra drag of Rin before quickly building with several powerful tail strokes, and he’d only just gotten his bearings back again, fingers white-knuckled and muscles screaming what the fuck was that?! before Haru warned sharply, “Take a breath.”

And then there were fizzing bubbles and white foam around him as Haru dove down—perhaps only a meter or so, just enough so that they weren’t fighting the slapping waves of the incoming tide. Rin clenched his eyes shut, focusing on maintaining his oxygen reserve for as long as possible, and he let the cool water rush over him in a torrent. Haru was fast, so fast now, and Rin was only just realizing he’d never really seen Haru swim, not breakneck speed, not full-out. What might it look like, he wondered, to stand on the rocky outcroppings bordering the cove and glance down, eyes shielded against the glint of the sun, to see Haru jetting through the mouth of the inlet, belly scraping the low sandbar, before launching himself into something he could really stretch his legs in? Or, well, whatever the idiom might be here.

Haru surfaced again, Rin’s head breaking through and taking in great gulps of air, silently grateful for the few strokes Haru allowed him to recover—and in response, he gave a reminding squeeze to his dorsal fin to indicate he was ready to go under again. The shock was less jarring this time, and he even allowed himself to open his eyes—not that there was anything to see, beyond Haru, at least.

He could make out Haru’s profile, only because they were so close, and studied him silently—short-cropped dark hair flushed away from his forehead and waving like seagrass with each pump of his tail, eyes round and full, likely seeing a dozen things Rin would never be able to work out in the murk of the open ocean, and face set into a stern expression of concentration, strangely comforting if only because that was how Haru always looked. Separate schools and new roommates and jam-packed schedules had been hurdles, to be sure, but nothing insurmountable, and it somehow made this feeling right now, sharing this freedom, feel all the sweeter.

How, he wondered distantly, had Haru coped all these years with nothing more than a few dozen square meters of water to splash about in? Especially living so close to this? Rin knew he ought to be wary; they had to be close to a kilometer out now, the sea floor having dropped away to depths Rin couldn’t hope to plumb, and if Haru abandoned him now, left him here to fend for himself, he could probably, maybe, make it back all right—but he very much didn’t want to find out. Yet even so, all he could think was faster, further, more more more. The Pull was physical now, not just a feeling in his gut, but one with the aching tug on his arm as Haru jetted away inexorably forward and Rin clung desperately behind.

Haru popped his head up just long enough to urge, Deep breath, and Rin, worried, did as told, before Haru bent nearly in half and slipped straight down, leaving Rin to scramble to keep his grip. He worried for a few moments, as the water darkened and light grew scarce, that Haru would forget—would forget that Rin was human and reliant on Haru down here, that he had a passenger he needed to treat with care, that he couldn’t dive to the great depths he may have wanted to—but he quickly leveled out, and when Rin glanced up at the sparkling surface flashing above, he judged they’d only come down perhaps a few meters, hardly deeper than the community pool near his house.

It was dark and quiet, and he could feel the powerful wash coming off of every stroke of Haru’s tail, even if he couldn’t see it. Shadows passed over them as tiny schools of fish blotted out the sun with their frantic flitting about, and Rin caught himself staring, captivated.

Had Haru wanted to show him this? If his lungs hadn’t been beginning to burn and that familiar reminder of you’re too deep, you won’t make it back in time not knocking at the back of his mind, he might have stayed there, floating in the dark a bit longer, but then Haru was rocketing them back to the surface, the glare almost blinding as they approached, and Rin’s inhalation when he breached was embarrassingly loud, with the coughing fit that followed even more so.

He took several long, measured breaths to get himself back in order, releasing his grip on Haru to rub at his eyes, slicking his hair back from his forehead. This far out, the breeze carried nothing but the smell of fresh, open water—no diesel from boat fumes, no scents of grills sizzling on the beachfront. Haru popped up facing him, inhalation far less labored (and Rin wondered if he’d even needed one), and he snapped a cautious glance around before fixing his gaze on Rin, looking very much like he wanted to say something—or ask something—but was holding back.

Rin ran his hand over the surface, flicking a spray of water in Haru’s face and snorting when he flinched. “Why didn’t you suggest we come out here before?” He waved a hand around the vast empty space of the bay, no trawlers for kilometers. “You obviously know the waters well enough not to get caught.” He cocked his head, grinning wryly. “Now I feel kinda stupid, thinking I was being all magnanimous over the years letting you swim in my grandma’s cove.”

Haru flushed with shame, sinking down until the water nearly covered his nose, and his cagey response was almost lost in the water. “Just…there was always Makoto, so I couldn’t…really…”

And suddenly it all made sense; why he’d held back, despite having clearly outgrown the cove, why he’d waited until Rin had brought it up. The stupid idiot was doing it again: holding himself back instead of coming out with it. Rin huffed an irritated sigh, ready to deliver a sharp reminder—then stopped, caught himself, and shook his head. “…You’re always like that. You’re allowed to be selfish sometimes, you know? I sure as hell am.” He lifted his brows in a gesture he hoped demonstrated a bit of self-deprecation. “Well, just so you know, any time you feel like sneaking out of the cove in the future and don’t mind me tagging along…I’m game.”

Haru’s eyes widened a tick, and he sat up straighter, lifting out of the water a hair—only to mutter with a thin veil of accusation, “…Earlier, though…you were scared. When I asked…” Rin grasped at the thread of conversation for a moment, not quite following, until he recalled the fleeting thoughts niggling in the back of his mind as he’d mulled over the notion of letting Haru draw him out into the open sea.

Rin didn’t think he could be blamed; he’d lost every male family member he’d ever known to the sea, and relatives had often tittered nervously that being on a swim team was just tempting fate, yet…he couldn’t explain it. He felt drawn there; like Haru. He couldn’t imagine a life without swimming, and perhaps because he knew the dangers it presented, it was all the more alluring. So no, it wasn’t genuine fear, not like Makoto seemed frozen with, it was…respect, a wariness. And despite that, a longing.

“Well,” he reasoned evenly, “We are kind of far out; I don’t think I could make it back on my own, so if…” He hedged here, conscious of the real thread of unease winding through his voice. “…if something happened, just…” He didn’t finish, because what else was there to say? He didn’t want Haru going easy on him, didn’t want to be coddled; he just wanted to see more, to feel more, to follow that Pull and chase after Haru until his body gave out. He regretted the admission, now that it was out there, and grimaced.

But then Haru had ducked down, eyes wide and nose nearly brushing, and he promised with startling sincerity, “I won’t let anything happen to you—I’ll see you back safely.”

Rin snorted to hide his discomfort, sliding backwards to place space between them, and he offered in response a cheeky, “My hero~”, puckering his lips into an air kiss and laughing a loud bark when Haru frowned sourly and turned away. Rin just snickered to himself and mentally crowed don’t dish it out if you can’t take it! “I may not be part fish—”

“I’m not part fish,” Haru reminded, though the venom in the protest was growing thin after all this time, kind of like with his objections to Makoto’s occasional Haru-chan.

“—but I’m still the fastest Fly swimmer in the Prefecture!”

Haru snorted softly, tracking lazy circles around Rin like a shark stalking its prey. “Just the Prefecture.”

Rin’s blood ran hot, “Hey—I’m gonna take Regionals this summer, too.” It was a bold statement; he was only a first-year, and many of his opponents would’ve been competing against a whole new bracket of talent for at least a year more than Rin, if not two, which put him at a distinct disadvantage. But being the underdog was what made it all the sweeter when you kicked the ass of those above you—plus, he kind of felt like he needed to redeem himself in Haru’s eyes just now. “I have to,” he reminded a bit more soberly, “if I’m gonna make it.”

He thought for a moment—just a moment—that he caught a flash of disappointment spear across Haru’s mien, but when he rubbed at his eyes, wiping away a track of water that was starting to drip from the ends of his hair, Haru was stony-faced again, rolling onto his side and beating gentle strokes that had him sliding away, almost more tempting to chase after than any formal challenge to a race. Rin yelped a sharp, “Hey, wait up!” and paddled after, wondering what it was he’d said, but Haru’s body language made it clear he was through chatting, so Rin filed it away to deal with later; right now, he just wanted to swim.

While Haru couldn’t do much more than offer words of support during training hours after classes when Makoto and Rin hit the natatorium, he made up for it in other ways—most appreciably by piecing together bentous for the three of them most every day. They’d started off simple enough, little better than the meager rice-and-mackerel-steaks he preferred for himself, but when Makoto had casually mentioned the entire team being given printouts detailing diet regimens they’d been urged to stick to, suddenly the lunch boxes had included greens and properly balanced portions of proteins and carbs. Even on the odd days when he found himself without the time to put together a lunch for his friends, Haru liked to piddle around in the student-use dorm kitchen—which comprised a single-burner camp stove, microwave, and toaster oven—to throw on dinner. It was never terribly flashy—but there was genuine talent there that Rin could see bubbling beneath the surface, and when he confessed this aloud, Haru just stared, expression a bit dumbfounded, before grunting a non-verbal reply and redoubling his focus on the sauce reducing on the little burner.

With the start of their second year of high school came the first time Rin started noticing their seniors getting scouted at tournaments—Samezuka was a team to keep an eye on, after all, and more than one Olympian could be counted among its alumni, but Rin couldn’t help the jealous little thrill that ran through him the first time Mikoshiba-sempai (Captain Mikoshiba, he sometimes had to remind himself) got called out of practice by their manager to have a hushed conversation with the principal, only to spoil the whole moment with a loud roaring, “YESSS!!” He’d stayed up til well past midnight calling all of his relatives—and Mikoshiba-sempai had more than a few—and seemed over the moon, his future pretty much set.

Rin had only been a second-year, then, with still more chances left to catch the eye of scouts; no one was going to pay any undue attention to a kid with another year still before him, after all. But…it turned up the volume on that tick-tick-ticking clock in his chest that distracted from more important things like the glint of a far-off dream or the roiling tug of the Pull that was supposed to vault him onto an Olympic starting block. He was getting so focused on what he was going to lose after everything was said and done that he was losing sight of what he would gain, and that was dangerous.

“You’ll pull it off,” Makoto reminded confidently around a mouthful of curry rice, swallowing thickly as he continued, “You still hold the records for Prefecturals, right? And didn’t you break the Regionals record just last practice? If you can hold that momentum, then I’m sure…” Except while Makoto’s reassurances were well-intentioned, it did nothing to ease the uncomfortable itch that he ought to be doing more. “Besides,” Makoto added as an afterthought, pushing his chair out and flashing a grin and thanks to Haru as he ran his empty plate under the faucet, taking care not to splash Haru, “I don’t think it’s your times that’ll bring scouts calling.”

“Huh?”

The faucet squeaked noisily as Makoto finished rinsing off his plate and retook his seat, reaching into his bag to drag out a worn notebook—they had an algebra test at the end of the week that likely none of them were prepared for. “I just mean—your times are phenomenal and all…but when you swim, just…” He shook his head, chuckling to himself as he leafed through pages of scribbled notes. “It’s a sight. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before, to be honest. Well—almost nothing.” He beamed at Haru, who frowned as if he’d taken personal offense at the perceived slight to his swimming, and Rin snorted. “Anyway—I think they’ll notice you for that before they think to even glance at the scoreboard. They’ll want to hone you into…well, whatever it is you’re eventually meant to be, I guess.”

And no one had ever put it to him like that before. Like there was something more to his swimming than proper angles of entry and times and theory—but didn’t he already know that, deep down? When, in a real, proper race, had he ever let the drive to beat this time or rank that place drown out that Pull, the loop round his middle that filled him with energy and made him feel like it was just him, the water, and Haru somewhere just out of sight, waiting for Rin to catch up?

When hadn’t he wanted to share that with the world? To let them look on him, swimming the 100 m, 200 m races and think damn he’s good or wow, where’d he learn to swim that fast? without even knowing what stoked the fire that fueled his speed?

And Makoto seemed certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that that was what scouts would see in him, when they finally turned their eyes on a potential new challenger come Spring.

He’d definitely be ready, then.

He slapped the table so hard, Makoto gave a little yelp, and Haru turned a silent glare on him, hissing at him to keep it down or they’d be run out of the common room. Rin gave an apologetic wincing smile, then raised a finger. “All right, first thing Monday, new training regimen!” He turned the finger on Makoto first; “Tachibana! Two hours in the weight room every night! No excuses!”

“Heh?”

“Nanase—” Haru’s icy stare dared him to demand Haru accompany them to the gym. “—more open-water runs! And less sight-seeing, more races!” A little muscle twitched in Haru’s temple, a sure sign of irritation, but he just huffed a soft whatever and sank back down onto the ratty little loveseat nearby, curling up poring over a book on classical French cuisine.

He stopped letting Haru tow him out after that, insisting on diving in from the tall rocks edging the cove and charging forward the whole way, with Haru popping his head up every now and then to keep Rin where he ought to be swimming to avoid nets and buoys and other dangers of the open ocean. Makoto hardly ever joined them now—though not for the reasons Rin might have uneasily feared. Instead, he'd apparently taken on a part-time job working at the recently remodeled Iwatobi Swim Club, professing that he hoped to turn it into a career. "And who knows? Maybe someday I'll be running the place!" 

He did still find the time, though, to accompany Rin to the weight room, as requested, and before long, they'd settled into an easy rhythm of training that, if nothing else, made Rin feel like he was doing something now rather than just waiting and hoping.

Third year brought an end to the reign of Captain Mikoshiba and the beginning of that of Captain Tachibana, and Rin finally got to clap Makoto on the back to smooth out their matching team jackets, just like he'd always wanted to, leering, "Guess they finally broke the tradition of having the most amazing, most talented, most handsome swimmer lead the team, huh!"

Makoto rolled his eyes and accepted the ribbing good-naturedly, warning, "Watch it, Matsuoka; or I'll have you swimming laps 'til your arms fall off."

Rin raised his arms in surrender, "Far be it from me to piss the captain off on his first day leading our team to glory." He listed to the side, glancing around Makoto's bulk when he noticed Haru loitering about the natatorium entrance; he never came inside—they'd warned him not to, on penalty of not being allowed any mackerel for a week—but he flirted their rules flagrantly. Rin jerked his chin to call attention to their third. "You and Haru are in the same homeroom this year, right?"

Makoto glanced over his shoulder, following Rin's gaze, before giving Haru a welcome wave. "Yeah—why?"

They lifted their duffel bags from the lineup along the wall, slinging them over their shoulders as they sidled over to join Haru. "I guess you guys got the career placement sheets too, then, huh?"

A nod, and now they'd drawn close enough for Makoto to involve Haru in the conversation as well, directing his response to the both of them. "Yup—I'm applying for a local university; going for a sports education degree, I think. I'm really enjoying working with Coach Sasabe at the swim club these days, so I figure there's nothing really more fulfilling than doing something you love for a living, right?" With a lift of his brows, he added, "I don't suppose there's any reason to ask what you wrote, then?"

"So sue me for knowing what I've wanted to do all my life," Rin retorted, though without much bite, and he turned what he hoped was a casual smile Haru's way, realizing for the first time he was actually kind of nervous to hear an answer to the question most kids were asked every day until they turned 18: what do you want to be when you grow up? "What about you, Haru? Coast Guard Search and Rescue? Marine Park Zoologist? Spear fisherman?"

Haru's voice was so quiet it was almost lost in the din of the natatorium as practice wound down for the day, gaze shunted to the side: "...Chef."

Rin blinked a few times in quick succession, regarding him in confusion—before it finally dawned on him that hell, he should have seen it coming. And then that dawning realization shifted to a fluttery feeling of pride in his chest as it finally hit him that Haru had taken his advice. And that felt all kinds of good, knowing that in some small way...Haru would remember him, always. Even if after this final year, he hugged them goodbye at the station and the nex time they saw him it was from behind a television screen or magazine cover, he'd still be the one who'd planted that seed inside Haru's head.

The first scouts came at Prefecturals when Rin won his Butterfly heat and set another tournament record, besting his previous time by a full two-tenths of a second. Makoto gave him a hearty shoulder shake, and Haru offered a solemn, "...Congratulations," and Gou baked him a carrot cake to celebrate, and it was the best day of his life. More came at Regionals, which was great, because that meant everyone was watching when he blew past his competitors like he'd had a motor shoved between his ass cheeks, straight into a very respectable starting block seed at Nationals.

And then, just like that, it was all over; he'd done what he'd been working for his whole compulsory educational career: get scouted. After some deliberation, he settled on an offer from Waseda—which would put him smack in the middle of Tokyo, not exactly a hop-skip-and-a-jump away from their tiny fishing village. But it was Tokyo, he was going to make a splash, and everyone would know his name, would scream it from the bleachers at JAPAN SWIM and the Japan Open and the Masters and University Nationals.

Makoto congratulated him at least once a week, reminding him with steadily decreasing subtlety that he absolutely had to keep in touch with them, they wanted pictures, video chats, skype sessions, whatever it took, and he'd better find a decent training facility near wherever he wound up living, because they'd be up to visit at least once a month to be sure he wasn't slacking off.

Haru had been quiet—but then, Haru was always quiet. But these days, the Pull felt...slack. Like Haru had stalled, like he wasn't up for the chase anymore, and it set Rin on edge in a way he couldn't define. He'd thought about broaching the subject on several occasions but...always wound up chickening out, confused as to how he'd bring it up in the first place. He'd never quite figured out how to explain the Pull to Haru—not without sounding like the hopeless romantic he'd been branded from day one—and now, after all this time...it just still didn't feel like the right time yet.

So he put it off, hoping against hope that Haru would give him some sign of what to do, how to fix this, what had gone wrong in the first place—because everything felt the same on the surface, but he was a swimmer, and he knew that what you saw wasn't always all of what mattered. Haru, more than anyone, had taught Rin that one could seem one thing from above...but below was another matter entirely.

He distracted himself with apartment contracts and moving companies and signing away his life to the last step before he hit the international stage and finally was where he belonged, and for a while, it worked. They were all three so busy with finals and preparations for the next stage of their life that Rin could forget, for a little bit, the fact that he was just treading water right now instead of moving forward. Because how much sense did that make? He had what he needed, had gotten scouted—so maybe it was just nerves, anxiety about moving so far from home (and hadn't he been the one ready to drop everything and live in Australia for a while there?). Maybe he'd settle into student housing and everything would drop into place. It was possible, maybe even probable.

But it was never a wise idea to dive in blind—you'd wind up doing a belly-flop or snap your neck on a too-sharp angle. He couldn't afford a misstep, not after having come so far.

And so, after seeing the final few stragglers rushing to catch their last trains following his farewell party, sweltering beneath layers of clothing in the unseasonably warm late-March weather, Makoto spared him the awkward request and professed a sudden pressing need to pick up milk and eggs for his mother on the way home, jogging for the nearest bus stop with a wave and I'll be by to see you off at the train station in the morning!

Rin watched him leave, an uneasy churning in his stomach, and clenched his fist; Haru's expression was one of ruffled confusion, clearly sensing he was being herded into some sort of trap, and Rin would have liked to have done this with more finesse, less bull-in-a-china-shop, but they were here now, standing outside a family restaurant at an indecent hour, and Rin wouldn't—couldn't go to Tokyo without reestablishing the Pull. Not if he wanted there to be any point in going to Tokyo in the first place.

"...Wanna go for a swim?"

And any sane person would've given him a look that said are you crazy? or laughed and accused him of sneaking a drink despite being underage. But Haru just regarded him warily for a moment, trying to get a read on him, before glancing in the direction of the harbor. "...The cove?"

Rin shook his head. "Too far; and my grandmother would kill me if she found out. Was thinking of something a little...closer to home." It was reckless, it was dangerous for a dozen different reasons, but it was all he had left right now. He'd squandered all of his chances, and if Haru wanted to think he'd been cornered, then well, maybe he had been. Rin wouldn't apologize for it; he'd never apologized for taking what he wanted, and he wasn't about to start now.

He marked out a buoy as their goal, reminding Haru that a race was a race, and he deserved the best race he'd ever swum on this his last night in Iwatobi. Haru's expression was as unreadable as ever, but at least this time, he didn't look away.

He called out the start signal—and dove in. The water was predictably freezing, but Rin pressed it all away, shoved it down behind a burning urge to find what he'd somehow lost, or maybe what Haru had hidden—except Haru claimed not to know what the Pull was, so how could he hide it?

It was dark, his toes were going numb, and this had to be the stupidest thing he'd tried in a long while, but his legs almost robotically propelled him forward, arms windmilling and gaze focused and intent on the buoy floating just a few hundred meters out, a bright light sitting atop it flashing in the darkness. The reflector flashed in time with each breath he took, hypnotic almost, and at his side...

Haru powered up alongside him, keeping pace, never pulling ahead, never lagging behind—just there and his arms were toned and defined as they pinwheeled like mirrors of Rin's own.

He'd wanted to stop, right there—and freeze the moment. Haru's profile limned in light from the distant lighthouse and boats floating at anchor in the harbor, the smooth line of his body melting from spine to fin to tail before coming around again. Haru'd always been a sight, but just now...he was blinding.

And then he was gone, surging ahead, like he'd held back just long enough for Rin to get a taste before deciding he deserved that real true race he'd demanded, and Rin was caught in his wake, senses coming alive with the fizzing bubbles left behind as Haru took lead. The backwash was powerful, shoving him back—but it only made Rin all the more determined to drive himself forward, and he poured more power into his muscles, ignoring the building ache in favor of the payoff he could feel just out of reach.

If he pulled up even again, he could catch that profile; if he passed up Haru, he'd have to really look at Rin again, couldn't slant that gaze off to the side. If he could just—

But then he'd reached the buoy, and Haru was tracking laps around it already; he'd lost, though losses to Haru never felt like the punch to the gut they felt in official matches. With Haru...there was always some other time. Except for tonight; tonight there was just this.

"I guess sixth in the nation doesn't mean much when your opponent was literally born to swim, huh?" he laughed breathily, clutching the buoy like a lifeline and hiding his face, because he knew it was flushed with something more than effort—irritation, frustration maybe—and he really didn't want Haru asking why, because he wouldn't know how to respond. Maybe if he had, he wouldn't feel that way in the first place.

"...Are you surprised I won?"

It was a little weird hearing Haru talking about winning or losing. Rin had always been the one who referred to their races as races—and he'd always assumed Haru was just going along with him because the alternative was to be pestered until he gave in out of sheer exhaustion. He hazarded a glance out of the corner of his eye and found Haru just floating there now, within arm's reach. "...Always. I keep thinking maybe I'll be able to catch you, one of these days, and then..."

Haru's voice was even, and it clashed sharply with the words delivered: "And what would you do, if you caught me?"

Rin snorted, because that was his go-to gesture when things grew just a little too uncomfortable. "Die happy, knowing I was able to outswim a fishboy." Haru didn't call him on the name this time, though, and somehow that made it hurt all the worse; the least he could do was make this easier, right? "...Dammit, Haru," he cursed softly, and rested his forehead against the buoy, shaking it in frustration. "This was supposed to fix it."

The light was behind them now, casting Haru's face in shadow, so Rin couldn't read him when he asked, "...What's broken?"

"The Pull," Rin grit out, making a fist and striking the water. "It's gone—or you took it away, and I can't go to Tokyo without it, I can't swim my best without it, but I can't ask you either." He shook his head again.

"Can't ask me what?"

"What part of I can't ask you wasn't clear?" Rin snapped peevishly, but his bite was gentled with exhaustion and the chill of the frigid water finally getting to him. "I just thought...if I swam with you one more time, then maybe. But it must be something else, and I don't know what or how to fix it, and how am I supposed to do this now?"

Haru pursed his lips, slipping forward to cling to the buoy as well, and Rin's breath hitched as his toes brushed over Haru's tail, smooth and muscled where it hung below them in the water. "...You're not making any sense."

"What else is new?"

Haru released a soft breath, the closest he typically allowed himself to come to laughter, and he swallowed thickly. "If I took it away...I didn't mean to. And I'd give it back, if I knew how. It's yours, after all."

Which didn't really make a lick of sense, but somehow it took away some of the chill, set a wave of warmth washing over Rin. "...But you can't."

And even though he'd known it was coming, for some reason it still hurt when Haru shook his head and said, "...No, I can't." Until he followed it up with, "...But I can give you this."

Rin had never been kissed before that moment. Romantic though he might have been, there was little room for anything beyond vague daydreams and it might be kinda nice if for someone as single-minded and goal-driven as Rin liked to think he was, and no one had ever approached him—he hadn't even been confessed to yet, though maybe this counted?—so while it might have made him the butt of jokes among his peers, Rin didn't think there was anything particularly wrong with not having been kissed at 18. Not if this was what he hadn't known he was waiting for.

He'd never joke that Haru was a fishboy again. All right, that was a lie, he was probably going to make that joke for as long as Haru kept responding huffily to it, but he was never going to be able to convince himself that any part of Haru was remotely a cold fish, not with this warm, probing tongue gently nipping at his lips and sending a shudder of heat reverberating down his spine and driving away the chill. He was never going to think of Haru as anything other than desperately alive and human the way he gingerly brought his fingers up to brace Rin's jaw to steady him as he pressed forward with meaning, as if to say—

"Makoto told me to wait for you again...but I got tired."

Rin didn't regain his senses soon enough to stop himself from stupidly trying to follow Haru's lips when he pulled away, mind clouded with that feeling of sluggish sopor that he'd always chalked up to mermaid fables but was probably just Haru himself. "I...what?"

Haru lightly slapped his cheeks, pulling him back to reality. "Makoto. He said I should wait. That you'd bring it up. But you didn't. So...I went first." His brows were cinched and his lips thin as he hazarded, "...I didn't know what else to do."

Rin's confusion only mounted despite the attempt at an explanation, and he brushed his hair back from his eyes, wiping at his lips to try to cool the imagined burn, like he'd just sucked on a block of wasabi. "I don't...follow, what does Makoto have to do with...?" He couldn't bring himself to say it, even though some giddy part of him wanted to mount the buoy and shout at the top of his lungs.

Haru's frown was back. "I was supposed to wait for you—but you were taking too long, and I...got worried you wouldn't ask it at all."

Against his better judgment, Rin didn't wait for clarification and instead asked breathily, "...Ask what?"

But Haru clearly wasn't going to make this easy on him, for he firmed his jaw and returned, "You tell me."

And oh. Of course, it was all just a roundabout way of bringing the whole argument back to square one, and how did Haru not understand that he couldn't ask it? Because if he asked, then Haru would say yes, because Rin didn't ask questions like this that he didn't already know the answer to, and when he said I can't ask you what he meant was I don't dare ask you. Because when you felt about people the way Rin felt about Haru, whatever that was, you didn't do this to them, put them in this position. So he shook his head and swallowed down the lump of frustration in his throat. "You can't." He was going to be selfish again, to take away Haru's choices again. "I can't let you."

"Why not?"

"Because!" he snapped, at the end of his rope, and if Haru was going to insist on playing dumb, prying all of Rin's guilty desires from him in the middle of the frigid waters of Iwatobi Bay at nearly midnight in March, then he was going to bear the brunt of Rin's irritation. "Because—it's big, it's big and busy and—and there's nowhere private, no coves or anything. Because you'd have to leave this here, and because I can't...bear that."

Haru's fingers were tracing over his cheek now, eyes dark, studying him curiously. "...So I wont shift."

Rin just shook his head, lightly slapping away the hand and praying Haru ignored the gesture and put it back. "You can't, you..." And in the back of his mind he heard Makoto joking I think it's been torture. "You love this. You'd miss it terribly, if you couldn't."

Haru didn't miss a beat, free hand sliding up to brace at the base of Rin's neck, forcing their gazes to meet, and Rin wondered just how much self-control Haru had to be mustering at that moment to do something he generally avoided like the plague. "...I'd miss Rin more." He stroked a thumb across the nape and pressed once more, "...Ask me."

And suddenly he wasn't diving blindly—there was a light, Haru was showing him, and all he had to do was take the plunge. So he swallowed the lump that kept forming in his throat, licked his chapped lips, and was selfish one more time.

Rin blinked away sunspots when Haru crouched down on the dock, his shadow momentarily blocking the bright sunlight beating down on them. "Is that everything?"

He glanced around, a bit panicked at being jerked from his daydream, and cast about the little boat one last time to be sure nothing had fallen out on the way over. "Yeah—should be. Help me out?" He extended a hand, and Haru wrapped him in a firm grip about the forearm as he levered himself up onto the creaky sun-bleached wood, taking care to avoid splinters. "Two trips, I think. No sense in pulling a muscle trying to make it all in one—"

But Haru had already hefted the cooler onto one shouder and balanced two bags with his free hand, lifting a brow as if to say well if you need to make two trips...

Rin shook his head in amusement, cursing under his breath as Haru marched away.

Looking back, it probably hadn't been the smartest decision on either of their parts to start a new relationship in the middle of so much stress—the move to Tokyo, Haru finding a job working in a kitchen, Rin settling into a new, much more rigorous training regimen—but what was done was done, and over a year later now, things had...settled. Into something manageable, comfortable. Good.

When Makoto had seen them off at the station the day they'd left for Tokyo, he hadn't seemed at all surprised to find Haru with a bag packed standing silently beside Rin rather than bidding Rin farewell from Makoto's side, and Rin had only then recalled Haru's irritated protest of Makoto told me to wait for you. His hug goodbye had been extra long for that.

"Make sure you pack your rain gear every day, just in case, all right? And—don't go outside during typhoons; if there's something you need, just make Rin go get it—"

"Oi!" Rin had protested sharply, but the grin on his lips had betrayed his good humor.

He'd urged them to come back soon—and they had, every opportunity, when funds permitted. Rin's schedule had been hectic those first few months, and Haru had worked odd shifts to make enough to help cover the meager rent on their decades-old apartment, but they'd managed. And when funds hadn't permitted, technology had, and with all the photos and videos and awkwardly auto-corrected texts Makoto peppered them with, they may as well not have left the prefecture at all.

When the stress built up, they'd learned new ways of relief that didn't involve racing to a landmark and back, and despite Haru's protest to the contrary, Rin made a point of taking at least one afternoon a month to find somewhere—an oversized tub at a public bathing facility or a disreputable onsen outside the city willing to look the other way if a sizeable enough sum were pushed into their hands—Haru could relax, if not swim to his heart's content. They'd chanced late-night dips in Tokyo Bay a few times, but the water was far too dirty and teeming with traffic to partake too often, and anything further out, well they might as well just go back to Iwatobi for vacation.

Which was what had them here, hauling a picinic for two onto an empty beach and making mental reminders they were to meet Makoto at the station at 8 that evening. 

With a huff, Rin wiped a hand over his forehead and glanced around, releasing a soft ah! of triumph when he spotted the bag containing the pieces of the little camp grill they'd brought along. He waved a hand toward the water when he caught Haru eyeing him with concern, clearly wondering if he ought to help out. "All right, go on—I saw you ogling the water earlier. I'll get lunch started; you take a dip."

Haru was clearly torn. "...I thought I was going to do the cooking?"

"I can handle grilling a few mackerel steaks; I don't need you hovering."

"I don't hover—" Haru started, before evidently remembering that oh hell yes he did, as Rin was about to remind, but he changed tacks, instead stubbornly insisting, "...I can wait."

Rin rolled his eyes, pulling out the little propane canister that would fuel their grill. "I promise I won't overcook the—"

"Rin." The protest was soft and serious, insistent without any force, and Rin felt his resolve crumble, because when Haru showed genuine emotion, it was like water to parched land, and he didn't stand a chance of resisting. "I'll wait. I want to swim with you."

And oh that was low, because how on earth was he supposed to fight that? With an uneasy snicker, Rin tried a superior, "Oh ho, what's this? Someone must really love me."

Haru bent at the waist to take the bags of food in hand, shifting up straight again and frowning, "Had I not made that clear?"

Rin felt his stomach do a roiling roll that likely mimicked the sick jolt Haru had had to deal with on the ride over. "So help me god, I swear, if I find out you're consciously being this damn adorable..." he muttered a dark threat, stalking forward with the camp grill in hand. "Come on."

They quickly set up their makeshift campsite, taking a few moments to reapply some sunscreen in the shade before fiddling with the knobs and hookups on the grill. While he never would have admitted it, Rin was grateful Haru had stuck around—if only because Haru hadn't been teasing; he was quite hopeless when it came to making anything much more complicated than instant miso soup, and while he could handle grilling meat, he'd never quite gotten the hang of giving a proper sear to the seafood dishes Haru was more partial to. They'd have their lunch sooner—and in a more evenly cooked form—with Haru manning the grill, even if it meant having to keep the guy unnecessarily longer from his first dip into free, open waters in months.

Rin hovered for a few moments before abandoning the grill to throw together a few simple side dishes, eventually plopping down on the sand to watch Haru work his magic while snacking on a bag of edamame. This was, it was starting to dawn on him, their first real actual date in...well, ever. Their lives had been one hurdle to meet after another since moving, and while they'd done plenty of things that couples tended to do, as Rin understood it, this kind of casual afternoon out alone together—and not cooped up in their apartment too exhausted from the week to do much more than slump against one another on their second-hand couch—was not a pleasure in which they'd yet partaken.

He'd worried in the back of his mind, for a while there, that when he actually had a moment to breathe, when he stopped to really take stock of where he was and what he was doing and who he was doing it with, he'd realize that his eyes had been bigger than his heart, and that he'd jumped into this situation with no real notion of how to be in a relationship. But then, Haru had been the same, and they'd butted heads and hurt each other's feelings and felt even worse for doing so enough times by now that they'd finally started learning how to navigate one another. Nothing had really needed to change, in the end; Haru was still so frustratingly unreadable at times that Rin had Makoto on speed dial, and at least one meal a day tended to include mackerel as the protein.

So moments like this, when he had a chance to slow down and step back and appreciate what Haru had given up for him, it really...filled him with strange, giddy, romantic urges to give something back. Which was what brought them here, alone on an island, with no interruptions or intruders for miles.

He had designs today.

Lunch was served in short order—a simple but delicious affair made all the more so by the beautiful locale, no fishing trawlers or bathers or coast guard for kilometers and nothing but warm, bright sun streaming down to warm the sand that chirped merrily underfoot. The rainy season had hit Japan full-force by now but seemed content to allow the pair this small span of time to enjoy their island retreat to its fullest—which Rin appreciated, given the small mint he'd paid to rent the place.

But now, he could almost feel Haru itching to be done with lunch, to dive back into the deep blue he'd abandoned to follow Rin and give him back the drive he felt he'd lost, and while Rin was grateful beyond measure for the gesture—not just for the good it did his swimming but for the good it did his soul having Haru so near at hand, their relationship still something new and curious he took great pleasure in exploring—hardly a day passed when he didn't wish that Olympic dreams might still be captured from Tottori.

"But then...maybe none of this would've happened if I could've done that," he muttered to himself, waving away Haru's concern when he glanced over. "You done with yours?" he added aloud, to distract, and took the proffered paper plate and cutlery away to toss in the little garbage bag they'd brought along for any refuse.

Haru moved to help break down the grill—when Rin stopped him, reminding, "We've still got another few fillets left; let's leave it out in case we want to make an early dinner of it too." Haru shrugged, then with a cursory glance around, began making motions that clearly indicated he was but waiting for the go-ahead.

Rin snorted, waving him off. "I'll finish up here, make sure nothing's gonna blow away; go stretch your legs—or, whatever it is you do." When Haru hung back for a moment too long, Rin added, "Or you can finish cleaning and I'll go for a relaxing swim, how's that?"

Haru huffed a sharp Fine, before finally turning on his heel and stripping off his clothes, carriage stiff as he marched away. Rin watched him go, waiting to be sure he'd actually do as ordered and get his ass in the water—praying all the while Haru wouldn't balk at the last moment and insist Rin come in immediately.

It wasn't that he wasn't aching to join Haru, nor that he cared all that much about keeping their campsite tidy. It was just, well, like he'd said: he had designs today.

Designs that included something he was ashamed to admit he'd been stewing over in a dark corner of his mind since that very first kiss. No, not consciously, but he knew the first time he'd really thought about it that it hadn't seemed like the notion had just popped into his mind from the ether. It'd been there, curling about his subconscious and poking its nose out every now and then, but never enough to drive Rin to action—until now.

Because he was never going to get a more perfect opportunity than this, would likely have to wait another year before they had the ocean and privacy and energy. Squatting down—and with a final surreptitious glance toward the breakers to be sure that Haru was dutifully marching into the surf and not about to come nosing about wanting to know what Rin had smuggled in using his duffel bag, he drew out a clear bottle filled with a viscous liquid he'd been hoarding for just such an occasion: water-safe lubricant.

He supposed he ought to have brought it up with Haru before they left—or at least before he'd sent Haru off charging into the water, because it was going to become pretty clear what he wanted when Haru was faced with a lotion meant to make sex in the water easier and...well, himself: a guy who became decidedly not human in the water. He was going to be able to put two and two together and realize that Rin didn't just want to get frisky on the beach; he wanted Haru to fuck him.

The fucking itself would be fine; they were mature adults who'd learned their ways around each other's body by now, after all. But plying a partner for sex in general and plying a partner for sex when their genitals weren't even human were two different things. Rin just fell on the side of the fence that saw the latter as not a bad thing at all. Or, well, he hoped to find out.

Now he just had to get Haru on board with the idea.

But he had a pretty decent track record thus far of getting Haru to go along with his ideas, and this history buoyed his confidence as he debated just how to go about making his preparations.

He'd seen Haru's dick before—both versions of it—and while he hadn't exactly slept with a lot of mermen, he suspected he'd have less of a trial taking Haru like this with minimum lubrication than he might were he considering settling down on your average run-of-the-mill cock. He'd considered initially what it might feel like to fuck Haru himself—but logistics and the fact that, well, when was he ever going to have this kind of opportunity again? quickly dispelled the idea, planting instead thoughts of how exactly one went about fucking a dolphin.

Haru would be missing him soon, he reminded himself, and if he was going to do this, he needed to do it quickly. He shucked his shirt and cargo shorts, casting a hesitant glance at the duffel bag and its spare pair of trunks before deciding ah fuck it. They had their privacy, and a swimsuit would only get in the way if things went well.

He took shelter behind a little copse of trees, in case Haru glanced his way, and squeezed a dollop of the gel into his palm, relieved it was warm from sitting nestled in the bottom of his duffel bag all day. He'd never had to work himself like this before—not from a cold start, not without Haru enhancing the mood and with a helpful hand on his cock, but he wasn't focused on getting off right now, just just wanted to get ready. There'd be no helpful fingers to stretch him in the middle of the bay, and while he knew Haru wouldn't be all that big, not in this form, it was still going in his ass, and he didn't want to greet Makoto that evening walking bow-legged.

But eventually, his body began to accept that something sexual was definitely on the menu in the very near future, and his cock started to plump, bobbing now and then in reminder—this was going to be a thrill to explain away, but there was nothing to be done about it now save to take care of it.

So with as much patience as he could spare, certain that at any moment Haru would drag himself up the beach to find him squatting in the bushes fingering himself and be absolutely scandalized at the audacity, he ignored his hardening cock and grit through the discomfort of prepping until he'd stretched himself to a degree he was satisfied with—then tossed the tube back into his bag and made for the waterfront at a light jog.

Haru was nowhere to be seen—no tell-tale ripples in the water, no dark heads breaking the surface for air, and this had been so much easier back in the cove, when there were only so many little crannies Haru could be hiding in, but shit, out here, he could be halfway back to the mainland by now, likely not even realizing where he'd shot off to, leaving Rin standing here on the beach with a loosened asshole and a half-hard—

"You're never going to be able to win racing me with that, I hope you realize."

Rin nearly jumped in his skin, hissing curses under his breath and shaking a finger at the dark shape that had managed to sneak up on him as he attempted to cover himself with the other hand in a futile attempt to maintain some measure of modesty. "I—shut up, this isn't—and screw you I could so take Gold with a hard-on."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Haru teased, though his tone was still so frustratingly even it was difficult to pinpoint the amusement in the comment. "Are you coming in, or not?"

"I am, I was—just getting used to the water."

Haru raised a brow but said nothing more, simply jerked his head in invitation and eased himself awkwardly out of the shallows he'd nearly beached himself in. If he was still this close to the shore, Rin wondered if he'd done much swimming at all in the minutes Rin had taken to finish preparing himself.

Rin sloshed into the surf hissing when the water proved chillier than he'd expected—maybe this trip would've been smarter in August—but he grit his teeth and soldiered on, knowing he'd adjust in little time and that Haru was waiting. Chest-deep, he began hopping along the sandy bottom, paddling awkwardly to build up some momentum—

—when two arms looped around his waist and tugged him down, slipping into a barrel roll that had him turned over in the water and sputtering loud complaints muffled by water and bubbles. "God—dammit, Haru—"

The arms finally released him, and he found himself whapped upside the head with the fluke of Haru's tail as he powered away, clearly having lost all patience and eager to get out into deeper waters. Rin wiped at his face, slicking his hair back away from his eyes, and eased into a front crawl to catch up. He felt the sea bed drop away—but Haru was easily visible only a body length in front, and he used that as his guiding mark, trusting implcitly.

With a deep breath, he ducked his head under and caught the play of sunlight dappling the soft heather of Haru's tail as he powered forward, and with a few broad strokes of his own arms, he was quickly giving chase, reveling in his first taste of the Pull here, in Haru's element, after so many months. He could latch onto its memory in training, in races, but like a battery, he needed recharging now and then—and this? This was a jolt to the system in every respect.

And Haru either slowed down or Rin was drawing more power from the Pull than usual, for he actually started gaining on Haru, each stroke bringing him a head closer, and closer still, until he'd nearly drawn up even, and he reached out with fingers spread wide and seeking to curl them around Haru's dorsal fin, grinning goofily when Haru redoubled his efforts and dragged him even further out.

They surfaced for a breath before plunging back down again, and Haru showed off a bit, doing a barrel roll or three to try and shake Rin—before coming to an abrupt stop and letting Rin float forward on his own momentum, smirking cheekily when Rin failed to scrabble and keep hold. Rin broke the surface with a sputtered, "That wasn't fair."

"No, it wasn't," Haru confessed, but his breathing was far rougher than usual, and he sat low in the water, words nearly lost in the shallow, gentle waves lapping about them. "But you're hardly one to talk." When Rin gave him a quizzical look, not following, he shunted his gaze off to the side and added, "...You're taking too long again."

Taking too long. That was always Haru's excuse when he felt Rin wasn't acting on something they both knew was coming, and—shit. Rin's face washed over pale, and he licked his lips, clearing his throat. "Well—'scuse me for not sprouting gills and flippers when I hit the water like some of us."

Haru cut him a look, like a parent chastising a child. "That's not what I meant."

"Then say what you mean."

"I'd rather you did."

Rin swallowed—and shouldn't he have expected this? Haru always knew the question before Rin worked up the nerve to ask it. The sadistic little shit just liked to see him squirm as he wracked his mind with how to bring it up. And sure, maybe the hard-on hadn't been the most subtle of suggestions that his thoughts were tending less than pure, but he somehow doubted that it'd been his dick at half-mast that gave him away. "Pervert," he retorted, more out of reflex than any genuine malice.

Haru sidled forward, until he was so close, Rin could feel the gentle wash flowing off of him with each lazy pump of his tail to keep afloat. He closed his eyes and tried not to flinch visibly when he felt long, deft fingers curl around his still semi-hard shaft, though he was unsuccessful in keeping a whimper out of his voice when he whined, "Haru..."

"Are you going to ask, or not?"

"Are you seriously gonna make me?" He gasped a light, sharp huff when a long blade of rough tongue licked a stripe along the muscle of his neck, and suddenly Haru was too close, too close to keep hold of his reason, and even though it was all there between them already, he couldn't ask it, he couldn't—

"If I start asking now," Haru warned, a hint of danger in his soft voice, and Rin felt his cock twitch like a live wire had just been shoved in his ass, "I can't promise I'll stop." It wasn't fair when he spoke like that, though, like he was bound and determined to prove there was some truth in the myth about merfolk and their siren calls; how the hell was Rin expected to resist, then?

"S—so? You gonna use it to get me to do the fucking dishes or something?" And now Haru was nibbling just below his earlobe and it felt amazing but was robbing him of coherent thought, reducing him to little more than id-driven responses and snappy retorts. "I don't give a shit, just—just—"

"If you won't ask me," Haru reasoned, "Maybe you'd like to just tell me what to do?" He punctuated the suggestion with another gentle tug on Rin's cock, swiping a thumb over the tip, and Rin had had enough.

"I want you to fuck me—Just. Like. This." And to ensure that there was absolutely no confusion, he roughly shoved a hand between them, feeling for the shaft he knew Haru kept tucked away, and then gentled his grip to draw it free.

He’d touched Haru’s dick before—in both forms, even. He hadn’t really meant to, initially—it was just, they’d been in a love hotel (Rin wanted to be clear he hadn’t had designs then, it’d just happened to be a room with a huge-ass jacuzzi, and it would've been ridiculous not to take advantage of the opportunity) and it’d been the first time he’d seen Haru transform since they’d hooked up, and he’d suddenly caught himself wondering where does his dick go? before realizing he’d said it out loud, and Haru had been staring at him, almost warily, but with that tiny glint of challenge as he’d awkwardly rolled over onto his side, buoyed by the water filling the deep tub Rin had rented out for the next hour, and stroked a finger suggestively along the folds lining a thin slit on his underbelly.

A slender, pink almost tentacle of a thing that had been worlds away from the fat bulbous dicks humans tucked into their pants, Rin had spent several long moments just gawking at it, marveling at the way it swelled to erection with the soft susurrus of Haru’s increasingly labored breathing, before he’d finally worked up the nerve to reach out and touch. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected that first time—something cold, like a fish, or slimy, like a slug—but it was just warm, warm and heavy and, well, like a dick, more alien to the eye than to the touch, and wasn’t the touch what mattered?

So yeah, he’d touched Haru’s dick before, sure—but never much beyond that. He’d stroked it, even hazarded to lick it on occasion (and that had been an interesting experience), but it never ceased to amaze—the peculiar shape, the way it curled just at the tip, seeking his fingers when he stroked Haru off, the remarkable recovery rate that had made him want to ride Haru like this in the first place… And this thought sent a thrilling little shudder through him, reminding him that if he wanted to do this, they needed to get on with it. No time for further mood-setting, unfortunately.

He locked his legs around Haru’s tail, straddling him to keep his seat, and brought his cock up alongside Haru’s, grinning stupidly at the sensation of his heated flesh sliding against Haru’s own, both hard and flushed and eager to be touched with more intent than idle brushes. Like this, he supposed any ostensible differences between them really didn’t matter; a cock was a cock, and he cared more about the body it was attached to, especially when that body was aroused and eager to give pleasure as much as receive.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Haru’s and letting the world blur to unintelligible splashes of color as he reached down with his free hand, keeping the other looped about Haru’s neck, to guide the slender, pointed tip inside, slowly but steadily impaling himself on the tapered shaft, slim as a human finger at its tip. There was no bulbous head to negotiate, no initial stretch or burn or wondering fuck should’ve slathered on more lube, just an easy, almost agonizingly gentle opening, and too quickly for his satisfaction, he found his hips resting flat against the smooth rubbery flesh of Haru’s underbelly.

He released a soft sigh, relieved and relishing the feeling of fullness for a long moment, then flicked a glance over Haru’s face, forcing his gaze to refocus.

Haru’s lips were full and barely parted, breath coming in a short, sharp staccato as he tried to hold himself together, and his cheeks were flushed with heat that could’ve been sunburn but was almost assuredly arousal—

“…Shit, Haru…” Rin breathed a complaint, lips quirking at their sides as he tightened his grip on Haru’s neck and tugged him closer to inhale the scent of sea salt and sweat condensing over his skin.

“Y-you…asked for it…” Haru returned stiffly, then bit his lip to stifle a groan—or a moan—when Rin clenched his buttocks to hold his seat more firmly. His fingers were digging sharply into Rin’s hips now, trembling with the obvious effort it was taking to keep from pulling Rin down impossibly deeper onto his cock, and Rin finally took pity.

“…Think you can fuck me properly like this? Or am I gonna have to do all the work myself?” Haru responded with a hardening of his gaze and tightening of his grip along Rin’s hipbones, holding him in place as he arched his back to slide out a tick before jerking back in again, sending a buzzing shudder rippling up Rin’s spine half from pleasure, half from the impact. He gasped sharply and brought his free hand scrabbling up to loop around Haru’s neck, holding on tight with both arms now as he grinned loonily. “That’s more like it; was wondering when you’d show up.”

It was slow-going initially; between the gentle swell of the waves lapping over them and having to ensure they kept their heads above water, as well as keeping Rin from sliding off altogether and having to start the whole affair over again, it was difficult to maintain a steady rhythm, much less achieve the hard, fast, desperate fucking that two weeks of honor-enforced celibacy (requested by Rin’s coach leading up to the Japan Open earlier that month) had them both clearly hungering for. But Haru’s solid, rolling thrusts, power from that long blade of a tail rippling through Rin on each pump, and Rin’s steady, calculated arches to meet each in turn eventually melded into something mutually satisfying. With one arm still firmly crooked around Haru’s neck and the other reaching down to take himself in hand, Rin let his jaw dip open and forced a kiss, tongue slipping through his lips in a primitive parallel of Haru’s slender, tapered cock pistoning into him.

It was uncomfortable, the cleanup would be a nightmare, and his shoulders and chest were bound to be crisp and sensitive from the UV exposure—but fuck if he wasn’t enjoying the shit out of this, the water between them slapping against their skin and foaming up from the thrusting and churning and Haru’s frustrated grunts singing in his ears in time with his cock slamming sharply upward. He sounded beautiful, and maybe this was that ‘siren call’ he’d read about in mermaid myth, because he could see himself doing pretty much anything Haru asked him right about now, just to keep hearing those breathy, throaty groans and hitched curses whispered sotto voce coming.

And then it was over; there was a little soft yelp of warning and shit Haru was coming—spilling inside with eager spurts far more quickly than he usually lasted (biology, again? Sex at sea must not be a time-consuming affair…), but as if in apology, Haru slapped Rin’s hand from his cock and took him in hand himself, wrapping long, trembling fingers around the shaft to jerk with more vigor than the lazy strokes Rin had been satisfying himself with. He tightened his legs to hold his seat, sliding down as far as he could on Haru’s softening cock and huffing softly in pleasure when it curled at the tip just so inside of him to brush over that sweet spot, seeming almost sentient as it sought to continue pleasing him long past Haru’s own climax. It was this internal probing and Haru’s sharp deft jerks that finally brought Rin off as well, lacy ribbons of white spurting into the murky gloom of the foamy seawater between them before quickly dissolving away into nothing, leaving his cock to twitch in Haru’s fingers, sated and limp again.

His skin vibrated, feeling like it was about to just shiver off the bone, and suddenly the sea breeze was too chilly, the water brushing like sandpaper over sensitive skin, and he clung tight to Haru as he came down from his high, chest against chest and feeling each inhalation and exhalation as keenly as if they were his own. After a few silent moments, and in very real danger of just drifting off into a doze, he muttered with lethargy thick in his voice, “…’Sat what it feels like to fuck a dolphin?”

Haru snorted softly, but with a trace of offense. “You’ll never know.” And after a hesitant pause, he added more cagily, “…Satisfied now?”

Rin slid his free arm up to wrap Haru in a proper hug, sighing vocally by way of response. “Would I sound terribly cliche if I asked if it was good for you, too?” When Haru appeared to actually consider this for a moment, he continued with an uneasy quirk of his brow, “…That bad, huh?”

“I—no, it’s not…” Haru faltered, hands coming to settle again at Rin’s hips—and then suddenly he didn’t need to explain himself, because Rin could actually feel him getting hard again, that slender slip of a shaft swelling and stretching parts of Rin still twitching and sensitive from his orgasm, and he sat up straight, thighs unconsciously squeezing along Haru’s sides like a jockey urging his mount forward. Haru quickly apologized, stammering, “No—just, like this, usually there’s…multiple…joinings, so…”

He glanced away, clearly uncomfortable with the topic despite their current position, and Rin had always liked that about him—how he kept everything bottled up inside, picked and chose where to be expressive and when and how much, and that was part of the fun, pulling emotion out of Haru. He chuckled sympathetically, though not without some effort to keep his voice steady, “Well if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather take my chances fucking on the beach than get more seawater and fish semen in my ass.”

“I’m not a fish—” Haru started hotly, before huffing his irritation and easing himself free, releasing a silent ah when his sensitive cock met with the seawater as Rin swirled his arms to paddle away, giving him room to maneuver.

“C’mon,” Rin offered with a jerk of his head, “We’ll head back to shore, and I’ll grill you a mackerel fillet or three while you sunbathe. Then once you have legs again…” He lifted a brow in challenge and flashed a row of sharp, white teeth. “We’ll see how many more of those ‘joinings’ we can squeeze in before we have to bring the skiff back to the shipyard.”