Midsummer Ambedance - A Free! Fantasy AU

The Evening of May the Twenty-First

***TO ANYONE THAT MAY BE AFFECTED, THERE ARE SLIGHTLY TRIGGERING THINGS IN THIS CHAPTER RELATED TO SELF HARM :/***

There was a knocking at the bathroom door. "Haruka?" Makoto called out. "Can I come in?" He waited for an answer, and when there was none, he cautiously opened the door.

A splash rolled around the room as the prince pulled his face out of the water. He hung his head and whipped it left right, left right, shaking off the water like a puppy. He breathed in out, in out, regaining his breath. Why he always tried to drown himself, Makoto would never understand.

"What do you want?" Haruka breathed, his head still turned away from him. He wasn't interested really, but he had to pretend to not want Makoto in the room. Not whilst he was bathing.

The bath itself was more of a dug-out pool than a tub: lined and rimmed with light brown marble. It was huge and at least a metre deep, and was circular inside like a bowl. It was at floor level, with grates situated at even intervals to wash away any spilled water. A light white froth floated on the surface of the neutral-heated aqua, and the water itself was dyed a strange golden-cream by some product he had thrown in it. It made Haruka's skin shimmer softly - or maybe that was just the shine of wet.

Haruka almost never bathed completely naked. For no reason other than he was strange, he had a habit of wearing swim shorts instead of underwear, which he would leave on until he exited the bath, all day. Tonight was no exception. As such, Haruka found himself very open around Makoto whilst he bathed, and he now rested his head on his arms, half his upper torso draped over the side of the bath. His blue eyes watched tentatively as the servant hung fluffy towels over a heated rack. In the back of his mind he heard the constant dripping of the tap behind him. He tried to ignore it.

Drip, drip... shut up.

Drip... ya know, Haruka...

His eyes flew open. That voice. Heavy and thick-accented. An undertone of growls. Shut up!

Ya know, you shouldn't be watching Makoto so closely. It ain't proper...

Shut up!

Even though it was only in his head, the voice sent a shudder through him, which vibrated through the water, echoing. His anger, thought to be washed off by the peachy water and gentle bubbles, flooded back into his mind and face and shrivelled-prune hands. He seized a sponge and started scrubbing maniacally at his arms so hard he left red abrasions; as though if he rubbed hard enough he could erase the memory of his hand clasped around his wrist. He wanted the crawling feeling to stop. He despised the sensation of skin against skin. Encouraged by the bobbles of porcelain-soft skin now rolling along his forearm, he scoured harder, faster.

Until a hand clenched around the sponge, seemingly protecting Haruka from it. It was Makoto. Would he stop trying to help him?! He didn't want anyone to interfere! Not with this... this ritual... he needed to clean himself...

"Stop it," Makoto whispered, almost exasperatedly. "Stop." Haruka gritted his teeth, but simply couldn't be bothered to fight back. With the blur of anger cleared he got a good look at his arms, assessed the damage. They were bright pink and scratched - he must have scraped off at least ten layers of skin. He was surprised they weren't bleeding, if he was honest.

Haruka sat in silence as Makoto massaged medicine into his wrists and elbows and shoulders, shutting out the creeping stinging and focusing on him instead.

Makoto was so gentle each finger acted like a butterfly fluttering over his arms in a delicate dance of wings. He caressed up and down, tracing lightly over each scratch and mark, and he reacted more to each stab of cold in the medicine than Haruka did. More than once their eyes met and either pair flicked away as if caught in the act of a crime. Haruka was punched with longing as he caught sight of those verdant forest-orbs: but himself for appreciating something as trivial as an iris.

The treatment was over. Makoto returned to the towel rack and retrieved one of the white sheets, then swaddled Haru's torso in it. He wrapped it around his front, tucking one edge under the boy's arm, then stopped. His hands lingered on Haruka's waist. He didn't want to move them.

Out of nowhere, Haruka leaned backwards, resting himself on Makoto's chest. A gesture... of what? Sleepiness? Content? In that moment they were both as confused as each other.

But neither of them moved. Haruka's eyes slipped shut in sign of comfort. His legs were still dangling over the side of the bath; whose heat had long since seeped away. Sitting here: in the arms of someone much larger and stronger and taller: and slowly falling into sleep: and his face so honestly at peace: he didn't look like a prince at all, really. No more than a pretty vulnerable boy. He never let his front slip - unless he was with Makoto. He would never admit it, but he had a tendency of using Makoto as a release from his indifferent demeanour, and he was happy to oblige.

Makoto's legs began to tingle: shooting spasms through his thighs. They had lost their bloodflow. He opened his eyes to find himself resting his nose in Haruka's still-damp hair, who was completely oblivious. He lifted himself up and loosened his grip until his hands rested, hung, from Haruka's bare knees.

"Haruka," he whispered. The boy woke, gasping a clumsy "huh?", not completely returned to reality yet.

"I should get you to bed." I. Taking responsibility. Like a carer, like a mother. Taking care of him. Protecting him. Something that Haruka had never experienced. He was exactly what Haruka needed.

Haruka nestled his head further into the crook of Makoto's neck. "Hmm," he murmured. "Soon."

Makoto smiled and exhaled in a small laugh. He was stubborn, and he was soft. "Okay."