fares | nostalgia and other tricks of memory.

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nostalgia and other tricks of memory.

[ As of late, Makoto's been having trouble sleeping. While insomnia is an ordinary facet of his schedule as of late, given copious amounts of coursework and essay after essay bound to induce catatonia in any student worth their salt, there's more to his perpetual tiredness than he ever lends credence toward. The nights elongate for him like they leech off unorthodoxy, his perception of time passing skewed for hours upon hours of navel-gazing.

Sometimes, he even catches glimpses of what he's after. It's always diaphanous, always partially unreal, but it's only in that strange limbo between wakefulness and slumber that Makoto remembers someone he isn't entirely ready to think about, the recurring ghost at the edge of his consciousness, snapped around awareness, the failure of memory and how it never retains sentiment as it should.

It's Monday morning, again.

Seven A.M. and Makoto is sloughing off the dredges of early-bird traffic to find a parking spot. Give or take another fifteen minutes, and he's on campus, winding through the thoroughfare of absently milling students to make his first class. His breath keeps echoing somewhere in his lungs, shattered and partially discrepant, like he's running a high, high fever. Invariably, he's spent the entire morning tossing and turning, restlessness pricking holes in his exhaustion. Tiredness elapses around his yawns, rounding them out as he enters the class with a couple of the last-minute stragglers.

Even arithmetic won't let up on banalities. The instructor keeps speaking in a steady stream of nonsense like his words dwell on an exponential curve, and for the first half Makoto's preoccupied with meticulously spot-checking his textbook as if it'll lend anything in the way of understanding. The answers continue to evade his concentration, and after a while he forgoes listening to the teacher drone in lieu of making sense of the hieroglyphics passing for equations on the current assignment.

Digging a heavy fist into one eye socket, Makoto shakes his head in vain, peering down at the page. Underscored with frustration, it's largely a byproduct of flayed nerves and discomposure on the rise that he knocks his pencil off, sends it skittering with an ill-time knock of his wrist. It's a simple enough maneuver to blink awake and drowsily grasp for it along the floor, but he keeps coming up empty, inexplicably, and gazing down is just enough to freeze him in place.

It's gone.

Makoto has half a mind to rise up out of his seat, thrashing around to find the writing utensil when something sharp pokes into his side and he directs his gaze sidelong, expecting the worst.

Instead, he's confronted with an outstretched hand, the pencil slid out between the index and middle finger, cursorily offered to him. His gaze falters, then rises — up to a stranger that, for all intents and purposes, feels too familiar to dismiss.

(A memory of blue, blue eyes, bright and intent, nearly luminous —)

Alarmed, Makoto nearly collapses out of his seat with a clatter, only saving himself from topping over by hooking one foot around a table leg and pulling himself up through sheer force of will. ]

O-Oh. Thanks.

[ Confusion irradiates his voice, blotchy with disrepair as he abruptly resettles, tentatively taking the pencil in hand but not retracting his hand. The seconds tick by on a lopsided axis, but Makoto manages to work up enough internal fortitude to ask the big-ticket question beating against his skull. ]

... Have we met before?

[ Talk about clichés. He can't help but ask, either way. ]

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Outside.

[ There really aren't any tables open, except for those four-seaters occupied by one person, their laptop, and a spread of papers. Haru would rather be outdoors, even if the sun is a little too bright. He starts leading the way to the door. At least he holds the door open for Makoto. ]

Ah, okay.

[ And Makoto concedes to that request easily enough, already following him into the great outdoors — or at least the relative vicinity of the café, scanning the area for viable tables? ]

Would this table be alright?

[ It's a two-seater ... how intimate ... but no, it's really the one that hasn't been taken up by student(s), apparently. Makoto glances sidelong at Haru to gauge his reaction. ]

[ Haru nods and sits down at it with his food. They don't have many other options, after all!

Once they're settled he goes about spreading cream cheese on his bagel. Conversation seems secondary to the needs of lunch, at the moment. ...and most times, with Haru. He focuses on his food with singular intensity. ]

[ And here he thought they were finally going to get around to the pleasantries?!?! He's trying to appeal to the commonality of being in the same class as opposed to those weirdly nostalgic vibes he's getting from the stoic guy chewing a bagel with a dogged fervor, so Makoto picks at whatever egregious menu item he ended up snagging as a last-minute café purchase to broach the silence between them. ]

So, um. What're you interested in, Haru? Outside of class, I mean.

[ His knees are weak, arms are ~~spaghetti~~ heavy ... but his mental perseverance won't let him while away this chance to figure out what's been bugging him about Haru this whole time. If he (not-so-subtly) interrogates him under the guise of getting to know him better, he's bound to find the answers he's looking for. ]

[ Nup. Not when Haru could block off the trouble that he feels will come with admitting he feels something weird about Makoto, too. He nibbles on the bagel, looking up when Makoto asks. ]

Swimming.

[ It's a hobby for Haru now. But swimming puts him closer to water, and that's his entire desire. ]

Do you swim? [ The question slides out, almost immediately. ]

[ That's enough to get a rise out of him, even if Makoto appears oddly displaced by the inquiry. ]

Oh! Yeah, I mean, I used to when I was younger. If I'm not mistaken, we do have a swim team on this campus ...

[ While Makoto still appears slightly discomfited with the subject, it isn't enough to entirely thwart his curiosity. ]

Do you swim competitively, Haru?

No.

[ "Haru" again. He takes another bite of his bagel and chews, but this time is looking at Makoto with a considering expression. So... improvement? ]

Backstroke.

[ For some reason, it's what comes to mind when he looks at Makoto. He has no explanation for it, but it doesn't matter if he's wrong. —and yet, he does think it's true. ]

[ Makoto can't even begin to veil his shock when Haru gets it in one, although he does do a good job of abruptly choking on his cup of water in his throttled panic. ]

How did you know? I mean, you strike me as the kind of guy who'd —

[ And while he catches himself mid-sentence, the rest of his assumption tumbles out of his mouth after a five-second delay. ]

... swim freestyle, maybe?

[ Haru's surprise is a little less obvious, and perhaps less in the first place. Makoto's presence is becoming more familiar the longer they spend together. ]

Yeah. [ How did Makoto know? How did he know, for that matter? ] You seemed like you swam backstroke.

[ Haru takes a long moment to look at his classmate. With other people he'd never thought much about them, but as he looks at Makoto he has faint ideas of his life that he couldn't possibly know. ]

...I don't know how I knew. What about you?

Intuition? [ His smile is less nuanced, a sign of dispossession as he clearly isn't satisfied with his newfound ability to divine facts he shouldn't know from just a glance. It's like prognostication that sits just beneath the skin — familiarity where there should be nothing, a strangeness that threatens to take ahold of him if he allows it. ] ... I just had a thought like "oh, he would definitely be better at swimming than anyone else!" even if that's silly, isn't it? I mean, neither of us knew each other before today. So it's impossible.

[ It echoes in his mouth with the consistency of a lie, and Makoto snaps his mouth shut, staring glumly into his cup of water like he's decided to take up dowsing as a recreational preoccupation. ]

... Did you know? Like it wasn't a guess, but you were certain that I swarm backstroke?

[ It's the distinction that counts. ]

[ "Intuition"? Haru presses his lips together and gives Makoto a flat look. He doesn't believe that one bit. Nor does he believe Makoto believes it either. ]

I knew.

[ Which is kind of like intuition, but saying it now, Haru just finds that he's known it this whole time. ]

Do you swim now? Regularly.

[ Bingo. Makoto doesn't even believe his own invocation, but he's hard-pressed to rationalize the impossible. It doesn't help that Haru's punchline equivocates to the same thing. ]

So you made an educated guess.

[ His eyes are dimmer now, like the light in them has slivered into bits of shrapnel. ]

No, I haven't swam since middle school. There's no real reason for it. I guess I just couldn't keep it up after a while. [ An innocuous white lie. Makoto casts a gaze sidelong at him. ] What about you?

I guess so. Or I knew.

[ As for swimming... ]

Only sometimes.

[ He still likes the water, likes swimming. But it isn't the same. When Haru was younger he'd felt the surge of delight every time he kicked through the water, delighting in the simple act of it.

But when he neared twenty, the joy he felt in the water—well, it didn't fade, but it—was different. He wasn't fifteen anymore. Swimming was only for himself, all along, and he didn't know what to do with it anymore. Which is why he's here at college.

While thinking about it, Haru's gone quiet, looking down at his food. ]

[ Intuition or acute psychosis? Makoto half-agrees with the notion of gut reflex, but he leaves Haru's confirmation by the wayside all the same. But it's like he's been magnetized — he can't keep his tone quite flat, unable to affect complete nonchalance. If his emotions are a cutting board, then Haru might be the knife, salting the wounds with an enameled blade, welling up memories like metaphysical blood he'd sooner ignore. ]

It's a little forward of me, but ... did you stop swimming because of someone else?

[ His tongue might be even looser than his restraint. Unconsciously, Makoto curls his fingers downwards, the edge of his nails bracing the table. ]

Because you felt indebted to them. Something like that.

[ The being "forward" part doesn't bother Haru. But when Makoto asks about someone else, he looks up sharply, confusion and slight annoyance coloring his expression. ]

No. [ There hadn't been anyone else.

—but that is the reason: he'd been alone. Haru looks at Makoto's hand, the way his knuckles are starting to turn white. ]

I want to swim. Later today. [ Haru looks Makoto in the eye now. ] Come with me.

Edited (bleh i didn't finish) 2016-04-04 05:34 (UTC)

[ And almost instantaneously, Makoto backpedals, waving his hands in front of him for good measure. ]

Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make any presumptions.

[ As prone to fumbling as he is, it's a miracle that he hasn't tipped over his cup of water in the process, although he's staring at Haru with an expression akin to extreme bewilderment. ... On second thought, it's definitely bewilderment. ]

You want to — ... huh? I mean, where we even go — it's not like I have a pair of jammers on hand either, but —

[ Hot under the collar with this new development, Makoto flounders for another five seconds before succumbing to impulse. ]

I don't mind taking you up on the offer, but why?

[ There's a shopping area not too far away, and Makoto might be able to borrow a pair of Haru's—though there's the question of whether he'll... fit.

But there are things that more important. ]

I want to see you swim.

[ HAVE YOU SEEN HIS PHYSIQUE??? But rather than try to argue semantics when Makoto is a big softy in theory as well as practice, he sighs, settles back into the chair. ]

If you wouldn't mind me being out of practice. [ Little to no resistance on his side. ] Did you have a time and place in mind?

[ Look... practicality is not always at the forefront of Haru's mind. Nor is Makoto's physique, sad to say. ]

Tomorrow afternoon.

[ The university's pool has open hours then, so any is free to use it. Despite the mostly mundane nature of the request, Haru realizes that his heart is beating quickly. Is he excited to swim again, or to have someone with him? He isn't sure, himself. ]

[ Looks like Makoto's paying a quick trip to the sporting goods store for swimming merch later, then. He's not going to try and wrench himself into jammers that clearly won't fit him. More importantly, though — ]

... At the pool on campus, then? I can be there around 2:45 or so.

[ Makoto is only acting on the facsimile of a presumption, but there aren't many gymnasiums that boast a pool like the one they have on-site, so he might as well clarify before committing to the trip. There's no denying his heart, which has since upended itself to slam against his rib cage over and over, the way a wasp in a glass jar might, which is as good an analogy as any for his current mental state. Rubbing one cheekbone with the heel of his palm, Makoto releases a pronounced sigh. ]

You sure get right to the point, don't you.

[ Makoto's not complaining, though. If anything, it feels comfortable speaking to him at length, like it's only numb reflex to compulsively trust Haru(ka) at face-value. ]

[ Haru nods. Yes, that one. It's the best for his swimming needs, though he hasn't gone nearly as regularly as he did in high school for practice. Recently he hasn't gone, because being in the water hasn't been the same.

But the rising tide of desire, for water and for the company of Makoto, for some strange reason, pushes him. ]

Yes. [ He won't try to deny that. ] So?

[ Does Makoto care about that, and more importantly, is he going to come after all? ]

[ Being in the water has never been the same for him either, but it's not so much out of disenchantment as it is acute paranoia. Makoto has always been a creature of habit, and this late in the game, his compulsions are more than difficult to simply dissuade.

If nothing else, it's strangely relieving, knowing that Haru doesn't cut corners when it comes to blunt honesty. In that regard, he can almost believe that there's something more at play here, even if he can't define the specifics of it. ]

I was just complimenting you. I like it when people are honest.

[ And Makoto's mouth tugs into a smile, candid and open. ]

Alright! I'll meet you there tomorrow. I promise.

[ When Makoto agrees, something unlocks in Haru's chest. Something that had been tense for so long, a muscle that he'd strained reaching for a thing or a person he didn't have.

It feels good. ]

I'll see you tomorrow.

[ He wants to take Makoto's hand. ]

Okay, I better head over to my next class.

[ Rising to his feet, something in Makoto compels him to extend his hand, however — only to settle for awkwardly clapping it on his shoulder once the moment passes. ]

... A-Ahaha. I'll catch you later, then!

[ And before Makoto embarrasses himself any further, he makes his getaway. ]

[ Haru turns his head slightly to look at the hand on his shoulder. It feels weirdly like it shouldn't be there, but it's not... awful either.

He waves goodbye.

At the appointed time Haru is of course at the pool. He's there ahead of time, actually, changed into his jammers and stretched and probably already in the pool when Makoto shows up. He does easy lengths up and down, warming up. ]

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