Hands would tremble with anticipation, nerves not yet ready to rend their ties with the intoxicating effects brought about by the mere thought of the other’s presence, the way Haruka would avert his gaze as an inkling of a simper would begin to manifest itself on those lips that Makoto knew so well. Fingers tapped absentmindedly on the package that he held ever so gingerly, dancing over its surface carefully so as not to mar the parcel as he was occasionally prone to doing –– albeit unintentionally. Today marked the last birthday that Haru would celebrate at home, and though the two were destined to continue their journey to Tokyo together, Makoto was determined to make today as memorable as possible. Emerald resplendence drifts instinctively towards the egress, a wordless augur of Haruka’s arrival.
Not a moment had passed before his slender frame glided effortlessly through the doorway, in a somewhat affable frame of mind as a result of the day’s festivities.
Cadence was loaded, as if to wish him good evening and to express a sort of childlike curiosity in the gift that now sat pristine on the coffee table. Euphoric laughter was elicited in response, a slight inclination of the head doubling as an approbation for him to investigate. Pulse quickens as he watches the silver paper be torn asunder, and he begins to question if his choice in present was truly the most savvy.
❝ Happy birthday, Haru-chan –– ❞
‘Twixt lustrous wrapping lay a handmade, leatherbound scrapbook. A picture of the two of them as children greeted perusers on the cover, smiles as radiant as ever. Page after page was filled with memories, from the relay in elementary school to their time at nationals. A particular page was marked with a bookmark, causing Haruka to flip to it with an air of inquisitiveness. There, carefully preserved was one of Haru’s many masterpieces. A slight flush colors his face as he comes to realize just what the drawing entailed. He had drawn it before he and Makoto had confessed the obvious, that they were more than friends. Soulmates, perhaps. He thought he had thrown it away discreetly, but it seemed as though Makoto –– being the aficionado he was –– had managed to not only salvage it, but also write a message for him on the margin:
And in that moment, an unapologetic smile graced roseate lips –– a sight that Makoto rarely had the pleasure of witnessing. What happened next was slightly blurry –– perhaps due to messy kisses mixed with a bit too much alcohol –– but neither of them seemed to mind. What they held onto from that night was to be cherished forever, and that was what truly mattered.
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