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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[ 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. ]

[ And Makoto, while normally the paragon of promptness (when he isn't busy petting one of the various stray cats that wander around campus), is still walking like a straggler when he reaches the indoor pool, easing one of the doors open. He hasn't changed, still snapped up in his normal attire, although the duffle bag at his side does indicate he had some forethought to plan in advance.

Stopping a ways near Haruka, he's back to some semblance of composure, even if he does wait a few seconds longer than necessary to cough into one closed fist. ]

Haruka-san?

[ Apparently, he's caught his blunder and is currently in the midst of rectifying it with gratuitous (self-conscious) formalities. He hasn't made any move to meander into the changing room, but there's a valid reason for that, really. ]

Do you know where the locker room is?

[ For a guy who spends an unnatural amount of time working out in the gym, you'd think he took at least a cursory appraisal of the pool's facilities. ]

[ Haru makes sure to complete the lap, movements not pausing when he hears Makoto's voice. Only when he's finished it does he stop and tread water, looking up at him. ]

Haru.

[ He doesn't like the way Haruka-san sounds. It's too weird. As for the locker room... he points a hand at an exit from the pool. ]

The locker room is through there.

[ And then he's sinking into the water again, submerging until only his eyes and the top of his head remain visible. ]

[ Something in his stare changes, fractionally, like he's gazed back at Haru for a few seconds too long. Blandly, he clears his throat again, dredging up all the equanimity that stills remains in his limbs. It's not shortchanging if he's the one who can't right himself properly. That imbalance exists, still, as Makoto engineers his own retreat. ]

Ah! Yeah. I'll be right back, then.

[ No more than a wan, wan smile slips from its facade before he's turned to allow Haru free rein to breathe underwater. The notion of his acquaintance as a semi-aquatic creature when languishing in the vicinity of the pool, for some reason, doesn't faze him.

Eventually, he's managed to tow himself back to the pool no worse for the wear, even if his psyche is on the fritz while he stretches, intentionally prolonging the affair until he has no choice but to speak up or bludgeon himself with his own self-consciousness. ]

Are we going to have a race?

[ While Makoto is gone changing, Haru does another length of the pool. He takes his time. The feeling of the water around him, pulsing with underwater waves, is soothing. But he thinks about Makoto, and that's also... sort of nice.

He pops back up out of the water just as he returns. ]

Why?

[ Haru didn't take Makoto to be the kind of person who enjoyed racing competitions. But it's not a no. ]

[ It's not like he's compensating for some kind of person he can't ever be, some condition he can't fulfill. Just two days before, he barely knew much beyond Haru's name. But having gone the whole nine yards to purchase a pair of new jammers must be indicative of some critical overinvestment in his part. It's only bound to worsen if he's paddling laps through the pool like a fool, wondering if there was really any rhyme or reason to agreeing to the proposal in the first place.

In the first place, they're not best friends to begin with. ]

I just felt like it. It could be fun once, right? If we raced, but — I don't want to force you if you don't want to ... ! That's not what I mean, either, so — ...

[ He's babbling now, fishing excuses out of thin air before settling on the only good way to salvage the situation. ]

... do you want to?

[ Treading water slowly with his legs, Haru stays afloat, blinking away the last sting of chlorinated water. The choice of racing or not doesn't concern him; if Makoto wants to, then they can. Somehow he doesn't get the feeling that the winner will be all that significant.

He'll offer this caveat, however: ]

I only swim free.

[ Brought to a verbal standstill, Makoto soundlessly opens his mouth once, like he's about to sputter out yet another impulsive request, then closes it. Haru is still waiting for an answer, so Makoto gets over his stage fright long enough to coax his mouth back into semi-coherence. ]

You should swim the way you like best. I'll do the same.

[ Perching himself down on the edge of the pool's perimeter, Makoto takes up the lane beside him, making no move to slide into the waters just yet. ]

Why do you like to swim free?

[ "Because front crawl is the fastest stroke."

Makoto has a ready-formed assumption of Haru even before he's heard his response, but it doesn't seem quite right — since the moment he's clamped a hand down on Haru's shoulder, he hasn't been able to regain his balance. ]

Edited 2016-07-21 21:57 (UTC)

[ Freestyle is the way Haru likes best, It's the easiest way to feel the water, in his opinion, with each slice of his hands through the surface leading to a better understanding of the water around him.

Other swimming styles are fine too, but Haru likes freestyle the most. ]

It's easiest.

[ More accurately, it's the most efficient stroke for just swimming. But Haru doesn't feel the need to explain that part and he moves to position himself in the lane, legs bent to start with the kickoff. ]

Ready.

[ Assailed with an answer entirely out of left-field, Makoto does the impersonation of a wax doll for all of five minutes, staring blankly at Haru like he doesn't comprehend until he does, laughing despite himself. ]

Yeah, you're right! It's the simplest one to do.

[ That's something Haru should say, but rather than voice something so incorrigibly weird and end up scaring his acquaintance away, Makoto drops down to the side and mimics the same procedure, down to the stance.

Breath snared in his throat, it's a while before he can speak up with fear of stumbling over his words. ]

Let's do a countdown then, alright? Three ... two ... one ...

[ Seems like Makoto remembers competitive swimming as much as he does. Haru sets himself up in position, only nodding slightly to acknowledge the count.

When Makoto reaches zero Haru kicks off from the wall, kicking hard and immediately sliding through the water in a fluid motion. Whether or not it's a real race, Haru just focuses on swimming.

Even though Makoto is in the lane right next to him, going through the water settles any of the discomfort he'd felt from the strange interaction of going swimming with a near-stranger. When he catches a glimpse or two of Makoto beside him, rather than feeling alarmed, he feels... soothed. Accompanied.

Haru reaches the other end of the pool and turns to do a second length back to the beginning. ]

... zero.

[ Sometimes it's just about taking the path of least resistance. Makoto doesn't attempt to cheat Haru out of a second head-start, only launching himself into the act, kicking off hard into the water. His form isn't nearly as streamlined or clear-cut as Haru, who could pride himself on meticulousness from how precise and controlled his movements are.

But true to his word, Makoto puts the brunt of his effort into swimming, launch a full-on onslaught with every muscle at his disposal. He's so determined that he can't spare a glance at Haru, although his gaze is burning holes into him like gun recoil, the sort of hyper-awareness that makes him presently conscious of each and every limb.

It's strangely comfortable, however. For a guy used to taking the backseat in all ventures, it's oddly exhilarating, and reaching the halfway point in the race, Makoto swims with a greater vehemence, propelling himself into the act.

No matter who wins the race, he can't find it in himself to regret a second of it. ]

[ The race—if it is a race—is far more intense than Haru had expected. Once in the thick of it, Haru feels the need to swim as hard and fast as he can.

He does reach the finish line first. He smacks a hand against the wall out of habit when he does before breaking out of the surface of the water to take a deep breath. ]

Good job.

[ It's been a long time since he'd been competitive at all. It was... fun, surprisingly. ]

[ If Haru told him he was an Olympic swimmer training at some nondescript college campus on the down-low, Makoto might've believed him right after this.

Panting heavily, the fingers of one of Makoto's hands insinuate themselves on the ledge. Blinking the water out of his eyes, he steadies himself, eventually settling for a soft, rueful snort. ]

You think? I lost, you know.

[ But his smile belies any disappointment one might come to expect from the defeated party as he hoists himself up to a sitting position. ]

You were really mesmerizing out there, Haru! I suspected you could go really fast, but I wasn't expecting that ... ! It really took me by surprise.

[ Just wait for him to catch his slip-up, any grasp of formality gone up in smoke. ]

[ 'Haru', again. And yet again he finds himself not minding. Instead he moves away from the edge of the pool so he can tread water and sink down until only his eyes are visible, gathering his reactions to such effusive remarks. ]

Hm.

[ That's also an inaudible noise through the water, but it's all Haru's giving him right now. He lifts himself with the edge of the pool after a few seconds to speak up. ]

I'm swimming more.

[ Since he's at the pool, why not take advantage of the water? ]

...thanks.

[ Well, neither of them had come away from this with any allusions to lengthy conversations on the logistics of competitive swimming. Haru winning wasn't so much inevitable as something he'd come to expect over the course of a day, so Makoto offers his best impression at a flippant shrug, loitering where he's taken his perch in one of the lanes. ]

Suit yourself! Do you mind if I watch?

[ Why not anything? With the strangeness of his own expectations at hand, he could likely watch Haru treading water for hours unbothered. He's not planning to keep a vigil all throughout the night come evening, but there are worse ways to spend a day.

Waving away Haru's comment, Makoto laughs into one closed fist. ]

Pffbt! That's nothing you need to thank me for. I was the one who asked you in the first place, remember?

[ Visibly brightening, he loosens his hand, earnestness seeping into his complexion. ]

Thank you.

[ 'Thank you'... for what? Haru doesn't mind it, but he's still unclear on the reasoning. ]

You're weird.

[ And that's reason enough..?

Haru treads water for one more moment before kicking off the side of the pool again, swimming away from Makoto and his strange, nostalgic feeling. The water surrounds him, as it always does, clawing at him and taking all his attention away from strange memories of childhood and living in a town where even the bustling swimming center seemed a little empty. ]

Wha— ... w-weird?!

[ Alright, he'll at least take offense at that. His modesty is too acute for comments that cut too close. Makoto isn't nearly as aggrieved as he's stunned, and watching Haru tread water and dive off the run laps, he makes a good show at flailing a little too far forward, and then —

down he goes.

Resurfacing from the sloshing water, he wipes the water out of his gaze, bangs plastered to his head. ]

What's weird about it? I was just thanking you for racing with me!

[ Sorry Makoto, Haru is still swimming. He hits the end of the pool, flips, and returns to Makoto where he's gotten soaked in the water once again. ]

Why'd you fall in?

[ That's all he got out of that, sorry. ]

[ Patron saint of patience as he upholds himself to be, Makoto waits until Haru has finished his single lap in the pool to speak up. ]

Sheesh. You really live in a world of your own, huh, Haru.

[ One that may or may not orbit around swimming. Rather than denounce Haru for the water neurotic-slash-fanatic that he likely is, however, Makoto outright laughs in lieu of answering the question. ]

You're really strange, too. Definitely just as weird.

[ That's a comment Haru's gotten many a time since his youth. It doesn't rankle, not that it every really did, and he simply tilts his head at Makoto in acknowledgment. ]

I guess so.

[ The water folds around him as he moves closer to Makoto, close enough to feel his body heat even through the water.

This, too, seems familiar. ]

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