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It was a different kind of pain.
The way Haru’s heart stops and expands then constricts, rendering him breathless, often came unexpectedly. It always caught him by surprise; it was like the sensation of being unable to breathe, sinking and drowning, feeling your lungs claw against your ribcage for oxygen, but no matter how much you open your mouth your body refuses to respire.
But this is different. As Haru stirred, ever so quietly, and watched Makoto’s form expand slightly before relaxing at each breath, he noted that this was different.
The rush of drowning – Haru had felt it before. He knew how it felt to drown, already barely conscious by the time the current nips at his ears and tugs at his ankles. Unable to breathe.
Haru counted to five before he slowly exhaled.
I can breathe.
Makoto let out a small incoherent murmur in his sleep, his lips barely brushing against the crown of Haru’s head. Each breath from the brunet stirred Haru’s black hair, each breath introduced a new rise and fall of his abdomen, each breath seemed to take Haru’s own away.
This wasn’t pain, not really. Something was pressing against Haru’s chest, pushing the air out of his lungs, but it wasn’t pain.
As he settled his bright blue eyes on Makoto’s sleeping face, his expression peaceful, though twitching a bit every now and then at some inexplicable event in his dream, Haru felt a twinge in his heart. But it wasn’t pain.
Makoto. Haru dared to whisper, but the sound was no more than a rustle of sheets as Haru moved closer, wrapping his arms around the larger boy.
Makoto was warm, Makoto was breathing, Makoto was sleeping, Makoto was so so alive. Haru could hear, feel, Makoto’s steady heartbeat as he buried his face into the other boy’s broad chest, legs tangling over the other’s and simply just pressing, pressing himself against Makoto because he had never felt so acutely of just how alive the both of them were. At night, in the dimness of the shadows, the moonlight barely filtering through the edges of the curtains.
Haru felt something in his chest expand, and he felt a million words and emotions well up in his heart all at once. This sensation of feeling and expressing had never been Haru’s strongest forte, but as it all came rushing to him now he knew one thing.
I love you, Makoto. I love you I love you I love you so so so much.
Listening to Makoto’s heart against his chest, Haru could feel his own thudding loudly, the blood pumping steadfastly through his entire body. He was warm, yet he was cold at the same time. His hands curled into fists, clutching Makoto’s loose shirt, his heart hammering so hard he thought he was going to explode.
It wasn’t really pain, not quite.
“Haru?”
Makoto stirred and Haru felt his breath catch, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t move, making no sound even though he wanted to say just how much he loved the other boy and don’t ever leave me stay with me I love you so much it hurts how can I stand being away from you when your very presence can stop my breathing all together?
Haru dared to take a breath, and it came out like a tremor. His own breathing was shaky and he belatedly realized that he was trembling all over, although the night was only just a little cooler than the day.
Makoto’s heart continued to thrum steadily. He was alive; he was awake.
Makoto exhaled slowly, his entire chest expanding and Haru wondered, wondered if Makoto felt the same as he did. This feeling of drowning but not quite drowning, this overwhelming sensation from the very existence and presence of someone you love, this pain but not quite pain.
There was a soft sigh of rustling and Haru felt lips pressing against his temple, warm and soft and gentle. Makoto’s arms, originally simply lying over Haru’s waist, wrapped around the smaller leaner frame, tugging the sheets over the both of them at the same time.
It was like being wrapped in a safe cocoon, and as Haru buried his face into Makoto’s shoulder crook, he felt his heartbeat thrumming to match Makoto’s.
Haru unclenched his fists before clenching them again, holding onto Makoto as if everything would end once the night did. As if in response, Makoto tightened his hold around Haru, his lips brushing over the top of Haru’s head, a thumb gently caressing his shoulder.
“Haru,” Makoto whispered again, his voice like a green meadow, like hushed secrets, like the gentle nuzzling of the white kitten down the staircase. I’m here.
I know, and I love you. Haru let out another ragged breath, curling as much as he could into Makoto’s broad, warm form. His chest could not possibly expand anymore to accommodate these emotions, yet it did and he could not understand just how much he could love his childhood friend. But it wasn’t painful, it wasn’t really.
The first time they both kissed, it had been like a dream. Haru couldn’t imagine that the one he had been in love with since he could remember actually loved him back too, in the exact same way. Makoto later confessed he had felt the same, how everything felt unreal. (“Though not unpleasant,” Makoto added with a soft chuckle.)
Everything else after that felt so whimsical and dreamlike as well. Subtle dates and discreet snatches of moments together. Chaste kisses and passionate, hungry kisses. Holding hands and leaning on each other for a quick afternoon doze.
But when Haru found himself unable to sleep that night, feeling the very potent feeling of being wrapped in Makoto’s warmth, watching the other boy breathe in his sleep, conscious of simply how close they are in the dead of the night – it wasn’t unreal. He felt it, strong and powerful like a tidal wave, that this was very much real.
Their mingled breathing, their sleepy consciousness, their tangled feet, their shared warmth, their loud heartbeats that thrummed life through their bodies. This love, the feeling of never wanting to let go, the want for someone to stay by your side forever, was very much real.
It’s not a dream, and it’s alive.
Makoto’s legs shifted a little over Haru’s, and Haru shivered as his cold feet brushed against Makoto’s warm, rough skin. Although Makoto’s breathing was slow and steady, Haru knew he was awake. Real and alive.
Gradually, Haru’s trembling subsided, but he only curled himself even closer to Makoto, as much as the space allowed him to. Makoto let him, his arms shifting to accommodate, a hand reaching up to lightly stroke Haru’s hair.
I love you. Haru whispered silently.
I love you. Makoto’s unspoken words.
And eventually, Haru allowed himself to fall steadily back to sleep, wrapped in Makoto’s warmth, as he always had been. He wanted to hold onto this forever, this awareness of just how real the potency of their love was, this strong existence of each other, the fullness of emotions welling up in his chest and threatening to sweep his breath away.
It wasn’t pain, not quite; it was something he wanted to live with forever