松岡 凛 【⩔】Matsuoka Rin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
carcharhinidae) wrote2013-09-05 11:58 pm
carcharhinidae) wrote2013-09-05 11:58 pm
Entry tags:
[ 間違い。]
They'd lost.
It doesn't feel like that great a loss to Rin, perhaps in part because he is satisfied that they gave it everything they had and were all there because they wanted to and that was enough. Even if they'd come last it would've been enough, but the feeling of his hand slapping the tile at the last stretch at the same time as Haru had been incredible. It left his palms and fingertips pink and throbbing even after hauling himself from the pool and consoling his team.
They lost. That was good enough.
Except even with two personal qualifications to the nationals under his belt, now that the relay is done his mind swirls back to the previous night when Haru's fist slammed into the locker and turned the whole world silent.
That's your dream, not mine! Dreams and future, I don't have anything like that!
The words that had left Haru's mouth continue to float around in Rin's mind as he bustled around the locker room, the smell of chlorine still clinging to his skin and hair mixed with the faint scent of his shampoo and bodywash. Haru had never wanted to swim competitively, but Rin had been sure that with high school graduation fast approaching all of them that Haru would have come to some choice about his future already. He'd put the question forward in the springtime, at the start of the school year, to draw attention to the point, and then given Haru space.
Except, unlike what Rin thought, that was all he did. He never spoke to Haru about it again, never asked what he was feeling or what he was thinking, never extended a hand to find a way toward any future. Rin spoke of Haru often, worried about him, let his mind and fondness wander to him, but not directly to Haru. The sense of Haru being ever-present in his mind ceased to be about Haru the person and became more about Haru the concept; the idea of this friend and dear rival he had that he presumed was going forward with him but never engaged Haru.
It's an illusion of friendship that Rin has created for him, thinking he's been directly involved in Haru while in fact having very little direct contact with him since that day when the setting sun danced on the surface of the water and made the cherry blossom shine like tiny rubies.
He'd thought of Haru often, and yet forgotten about Haru entirely.
Rin doesn't realise that yet, which is why Haru's response--that frustration and rage burning in his eyes in a way Rin has never seen before--weighs on him; taking for granted that they were both walking the same path and then finding how off the mark he is plays over and over in Rin's head.
The races over with, Rin hoists his bag over his shoulder and heads back to the hotel. There's several hours before they all have to leave and as he stands in the lobby, staring at the plush carpet beneath his feet, Rin starts to wonder about what to do. It can't be left this way.
When he heads to the elevator, the button he presses isn't for his floor, but the one the Iwatobi swim team are staying on. The ascending numbers lighting up catch in his flame-coloured eyes and he starts to feel his heart thump harder in his chest the closer he gets to Haru's floor. What is he supposed to say? How can he pull Haru out of this stupid course of non-action? There has to be something, but even as he knocks against the door and then shoves both hands into the pocket of his jacket, Rin can already feel the frustration and uncertainty building in his stomach. What the hell does Haru think he's doing, honestly.
It doesn't feel like that great a loss to Rin, perhaps in part because he is satisfied that they gave it everything they had and were all there because they wanted to and that was enough. Even if they'd come last it would've been enough, but the feeling of his hand slapping the tile at the last stretch at the same time as Haru had been incredible. It left his palms and fingertips pink and throbbing even after hauling himself from the pool and consoling his team.
They lost. That was good enough.
Except even with two personal qualifications to the nationals under his belt, now that the relay is done his mind swirls back to the previous night when Haru's fist slammed into the locker and turned the whole world silent.
That's your dream, not mine! Dreams and future, I don't have anything like that!
The words that had left Haru's mouth continue to float around in Rin's mind as he bustled around the locker room, the smell of chlorine still clinging to his skin and hair mixed with the faint scent of his shampoo and bodywash. Haru had never wanted to swim competitively, but Rin had been sure that with high school graduation fast approaching all of them that Haru would have come to some choice about his future already. He'd put the question forward in the springtime, at the start of the school year, to draw attention to the point, and then given Haru space.
Except, unlike what Rin thought, that was all he did. He never spoke to Haru about it again, never asked what he was feeling or what he was thinking, never extended a hand to find a way toward any future. Rin spoke of Haru often, worried about him, let his mind and fondness wander to him, but not directly to Haru. The sense of Haru being ever-present in his mind ceased to be about Haru the person and became more about Haru the concept; the idea of this friend and dear rival he had that he presumed was going forward with him but never engaged Haru.
It's an illusion of friendship that Rin has created for him, thinking he's been directly involved in Haru while in fact having very little direct contact with him since that day when the setting sun danced on the surface of the water and made the cherry blossom shine like tiny rubies.
He'd thought of Haru often, and yet forgotten about Haru entirely.
Rin doesn't realise that yet, which is why Haru's response--that frustration and rage burning in his eyes in a way Rin has never seen before--weighs on him; taking for granted that they were both walking the same path and then finding how off the mark he is plays over and over in Rin's head.
The races over with, Rin hoists his bag over his shoulder and heads back to the hotel. There's several hours before they all have to leave and as he stands in the lobby, staring at the plush carpet beneath his feet, Rin starts to wonder about what to do. It can't be left this way.
When he heads to the elevator, the button he presses isn't for his floor, but the one the Iwatobi swim team are staying on. The ascending numbers lighting up catch in his flame-coloured eyes and he starts to feel his heart thump harder in his chest the closer he gets to Haru's floor. What is he supposed to say? How can he pull Haru out of this stupid course of non-action? There has to be something, but even as he knocks against the door and then shoves both hands into the pocket of his jacket, Rin can already feel the frustration and uncertainty building in his stomach. What the hell does Haru think he's doing, honestly.
no subject
"If you had fun then that's enough."
Obviously it's not, but Haru says it anyway. The words are at least not completely hollow--it does matter very much to Haru that his friends are able to have the things that they want. He still cares about them, after all, and he doesn't want to make them unhappy. Their worry, though, and Rin's (if he shares it) just feels bothersome. An answer is what they need from him, not what he needs.
It's true that Haru felt a certain fire enter into him as the race was swum, as he stood on the starting block and then as he flew through the water with Rin in the next lane. There was the determination he felt at the beginning, the electrifying spark of being in the water with Rin right there beside him, and then like a dormant geyser, the surface had gone perfectly still again. Only moments after his hand had touched the wall it had begun to subside.
Haru remembers the warmth of Nagisa's arms around his neck, the press of his bare chest. He hadn't complained at all when the smaller boy jumped on him this time. He cared for his teammates. He truly wanted them to be happy, wanted the relay to bring them happiness. He'd wanted them to win--to beat Samezuka, perhaps especially to beat Yamazaki...to beat Yamazaki and Rin, though Haru did not think about these particulars too closely--and he was gratified that they had. But the moment they were out of the water, Rin was already gone.
Even standing right there poolside, one team next to the other, each embracing and congratulating, Rin was still gone. And Haru felt the muted numbness settling again like a shroud. It wasn't that he felt nothing. It was just that he didn't feel much--like he was living inside a fish bowl, looking out at the world but only touching it from across a pane of glass.
Last year, the whole world seemed to tilt back from its axis when they won the relay. There had been this pounding, burning, ardent need, a keening inside Haru's whole body. This year, a pale copy had taken its place, the colors all faded and washed out, his own body repeating gestures but hollowed out from the emotion behind them. Maybe that wouldn't matter so much if Haru didn't know how it could--how it should--feel.
But telling him that people are worried isn't going to change that. He's sorry they're worried, but he can't do anything about it--he would have to have been another person, and he can't go back in time and make himself someone other than he is, make himself Yamazaki or whoever Rin is wishing he would be more like.
He's not angry though, and his words don't sound angry or resentful. He means it: if Rin and the others had fun, then good; they should just leave well enough alone and enjoy that while they all can.
no subject
Rin doesn't see the extent to which turning away from Haru and orientating himself toward something else--the Samezuka team and Sousuke's serious attitudes around professional swimming--actively takes him away form Haru and from the connections they had woven back together so desperately and shakily a year earlier. In short, he doesn't see how when he pulls himself out the pool and immediately, unwaveringly, turns toward his team he made a gesture of closing a door on the light Haru provided him.
In time, he'll see all this and how poorly he's treated the relationship he and Haru share, but right now he's confused and starting to feel his patience being chipped away at as his eyebrows furrow as he frowns at the other boy in the hallway. They feel like strangers and it causes Rin a kind of discomfort he's not felt for quite sometime. Now more than before though the stakes and pressure around his and Haru's missed connections feels far more pressing to Rin.
"Don't want to--? Haru, you haven't said anything!"
He can at least recognise that much as he takes a step forward, but the approach is still all wrong.
"You haven't spoken to anyone and you're acting like all you've done is talk about this. You haven't! No-one knows what you're thinking because you don't say anything! Makoto can say whatever he wants, but if you're not actually talking to anyone people just have to guess what you're thinking! That's what's happening right now!"