What Haru isn't doing is celebrating. Or, rather, he is, because it's easier to participate in a celebration than to feel the weight of the others' disappointment were he to withdraw. Everyone is elated with their win, of course, and they have the right to be. Haru would never want to take that away from them--his care and commitment to them as friends and teammates is genuine, after all.
But he's with them in body only, his senses experiencing the whole thing as muffled, like he's hearing and seeing it all from inside a bell jar.
Maybe that's why, when Rei says that they need more drinks, Haru offers to be the one to get them. Just to get a moment of quiet where he can forget the dullness of all the sound.
The party isn't in his and Makoto's room, so there's no answer when Rin knocks there. Everyone's down the hall in Rei and Nagisa's room. The path back from the vending machine goes past Haru and Makoto's door though. Which is how Haru comes to step round a corner and suddenly find himself face to face with--
"Rin?"
He's surprised.
Not that he's holding on to any particular anger or resentment over their confrontation the day before. He's not mad at Rin now; he doesn't feel anything.
The whole of the previous day--the same day on which Rin had seen the path to his dreams open wide before him--had, for Haru, been like being pinioned and trapped. What Haru wanted was free, and yesterday had been, simply, its antithesis. Not just yesterday. It had been there for a long time. Yesterday had simply cracked through the surface.
Nothing, of course, has been resolved since. It wasn't like lancing a sore. It had just happened. And Haru has since smoothed the veneer, brushed the webs and nets away so he could see the path he'd come here for and swim the relay with his team. He doesn't like that it cracked through the surface at all, but maybe it was inevitable. If it had finally been the thing to take the pressure away then maybe he wouldn't mind, but he doesn't like the way people have been looking at him and how many unspoken questions and near-spoken remarks he's left feeling that he has to dodge.
There was a spot of brightness during the relay--in the water and for a moment afterwards when they all stood together poolside; he'd felt like he was really breathing then. But now the race is swum and the feeling that the air is drowning him has re-settled like silt in his lungs.
Rin being here now? It's just inconvenient. Haru doesn't want to fight. He doesn't want to talk. He doesn't even know if he wants to know what it is that Rin wants from him. Rin has his path, he's made his choices, and what he does is none of Haru's business anymore. There is nothing more to say.
...But he doesn't want to be back in the room where his teammates are celebrating either. He feels just as much like he's drowning there as he does here. The same weight is in his lungs all the time anyway, so he supposes that it doesn't matter much. Rin can say what's on his mind if he wants.
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But he's with them in body only, his senses experiencing the whole thing as muffled, like he's hearing and seeing it all from inside a bell jar.
Maybe that's why, when Rei says that they need more drinks, Haru offers to be the one to get them. Just to get a moment of quiet where he can forget the dullness of all the sound.
The party isn't in his and Makoto's room, so there's no answer when Rin knocks there. Everyone's down the hall in Rei and Nagisa's room. The path back from the vending machine goes past Haru and Makoto's door though. Which is how Haru comes to step round a corner and suddenly find himself face to face with--
"Rin?"
He's surprised.
Not that he's holding on to any particular anger or resentment over their confrontation the day before. He's not mad at Rin now; he doesn't feel anything.
The whole of the previous day--the same day on which Rin had seen the path to his dreams open wide before him--had, for Haru, been like being pinioned and trapped. What Haru wanted was free, and yesterday had been, simply, its antithesis. Not just yesterday. It had been there for a long time. Yesterday had simply cracked through the surface.
Nothing, of course, has been resolved since. It wasn't like lancing a sore. It had just happened. And Haru has since smoothed the veneer, brushed the webs and nets away so he could see the path he'd come here for and swim the relay with his team. He doesn't like that it cracked through the surface at all, but maybe it was inevitable. If it had finally been the thing to take the pressure away then maybe he wouldn't mind, but he doesn't like the way people have been looking at him and how many unspoken questions and near-spoken remarks he's left feeling that he has to dodge.
There was a spot of brightness during the relay--in the water and for a moment afterwards when they all stood together poolside; he'd felt like he was really breathing then. But now the race is swum and the feeling that the air is drowning him has re-settled like silt in his lungs.
Rin being here now? It's just inconvenient. Haru doesn't want to fight. He doesn't want to talk. He doesn't even know if he wants to know what it is that Rin wants from him. Rin has his path, he's made his choices, and what he does is none of Haru's business anymore. There is nothing more to say.
...But he doesn't want to be back in the room where his teammates are celebrating either. He feels just as much like he's drowning there as he does here. The same weight is in his lungs all the time anyway, so he supposes that it doesn't matter much. Rin can say what's on his mind if he wants.